I received a call from my mom sometime last week - and I could hear it in her voice. She was definitely very upset. I didn't need to ask why. I already knew what was up. Interstitial Cystitis (IC) - a disease that most people still haven't heard of despite it's impacting an approximate 3 - 8 million women and 1 - 4 million men in the United States alone, has plagued my mother with debilitating chronic pain for as long as I can remember.
She was diagnosed when I was still a very young girl and was hospitalized at one point, during which she underwent a full hysterectomy, which produced a series of complications that led to a much longer hospital stay than anyone in my family anticipated.
To this day she reminds me of the conversation I had with her doctor during one of our hospital visits:
"When is my mom coming home?"
"Very soon."
"You say that every time we're here and then she doesn't come home. You're lying."
Needless to say, it made the doctor feel terrible, but there really wasn't anything he could do. She had lost her cerebrospinal fluid and needed to recover from that on top of the hysterectomy.
Despite a massive operation, it barely made a dent in what would ultimately become the bane of my mother's existence. Interstitial Cystitis would change her life dramatically - impacting her ability to do things many of us take for granted, like walk long distances, exercise and attend events, (including those she considered important throughout my childhood). It would impact her mood, her overall outlook on life - and her will to live, (though I wasn't really aware of this until very recently).
My mother has fought a disease that has subjected her to chronic pain now for more than three decades. We're not talking about mild pain either. We're talking about stabbing and burning to such an extent that she literally cannot do much of anything on days where her flare ups are really bad. There is no cure. There are treatments, though most are incredibly unpleasant, including one she has undergone herself countless times, wherein they instill your bladder with an acid-like substances to try to burn off the ulcerated lining). Fortunately for her, the treatments have more or less worked over the years. (She only resorts to them when the pain becomes just too unbearable). Unfortunately for her, one of the more recent treatments hasn't really delivered the same results - and she has been horribly depressed, having to undergo a second round of bladder instillations which also have yet to produce the results she's looking for - even after 6 weeks of them.
So when I got this call the other morning, and for the first time in my life I heard her admit that she has thought about taking her own life - it broke me. I was horrified and stunned. I know how upset she has been over the years for even having this illness. I know she is riddled with guilt over it, (which is absurd because she had nothing to do with it). Nevertheless, she STILL feels guilty about missing those supposed "important" childhood events of mine. I can't recall her missing anything. She was at every dance recital, every play, every everything I can think of. She says she missed things like Open Houses. Who the hell cares??? Well, apparently, she does. She wanted to be at those. Frankly however, I have no recollection of her missing them, but I feel terribly that she still beats herself up over what seem to be to be very trivial things. But she's a mom... and moms want what's best for their children - and that would've meant her not missing a single thing - ever, no matter how trivial.
In any case, her admission of thinking about taking her own life gave me serious pause. As those of you who know me may already know, I am petrified of death so I cannot even begin to imagine a scenario in which that thought would cross my own mind - but then again, I have never, ever experienced chronic pain. (Knock on wood).
She has... and she has for well over 30 years - and as she explained, she is, "...tired of the fight."
As anyone can understand, this is not something you want to hear your mother say - especially when you're about to become a mother yourself. Thing is, she's really been struggling for a while now - and she needed to get it off her chest - and I'm the one she talks to about these things. I think she actually tried to hide it for quite a while, because I'm pregnant and emotional and dealing with a lot myself... but I'm glad she said something - because it forced me to take a look at things... like how someone could even think that - and what I might be able to do to help her... because that's what I love to do best. I love to help people. I have read about her disease time and time again - Googling everything and anything to see if there are new treatments available she might not be aware of because she refuses to read about her disease. (It depresses her, freaks her out, etc.) She also still doesn't know how to operate a computer, so there's that. I have actually found a few things for her on occasion - and she is always eternally grateful, so when I got this most recent call, I was on a mission to conduct more research - find something she hasn't tried yet - something that would give her hope and eliminate any thoughts of wanting to cease her earthly existence. After all, Gypsy needs her grandmother and really, I still need my mom.
Fortunately, my mom called me again later to reassure me that while she may have thought about it in a very, very dark and desperate moment, she would never ever go through with it. She will keep fighting.
THANK FUCKING CHRIST.
Obviously, that's a very good thing - but I hate that she has ever experienced so much pain to begin with that she even gave it a moment of thought. Also, my mother is one of the strongest people I know, so for her to feel like quitting really speaks volumes about just how horrible IC is. (Apparently depression and suicidal thoughts are very common in people with IC. Sadly, some people actually go though with the suicide part). In good news, now that I'm gigantic, (see pic) and having a harder time being mobile, I have plenty of time to read and research the latest treatments for her illness. Interestingly, but perhaps not surprisingly, Botox is on the list.
Anyway - this is partially why I haven't written much recently. I've had a lot on my mind.
P.S. - If anyone reading this knows my mother, please do not even mention this to her. She's incredibly weird about people even knowing that she has this disease and she'd probably kill me for writing this. Good thing she doesn't know how to use a computer.
Leigh Hope Fountain
Dear Gypsy,
You will be here in 44 days. I know this because we're serving you with eviction papers on October 22nd because the doctor has decided that's what's best for both of us. I'm 100% fine with this because even though it's 8 days before your "due date" we seriously cannot wait to have you here and can barely tolerate another day - let alone another 44, so we're thankful that it's not 51. Also, seeing the 3D sonogram pics has not made the waiting game any easier. In fact, seeing your beautiful face has truly made time move like molasses and we don't help matters by keeping your photos plastered all over our fridge.
As we get closer to your arrival, we sit up at night talking about you. In fact, we've had numerous conversations about your future already. (No pressure hon - we just want you to avoid making some of the mistakes we did, if at all possible). We spend a lot of time thinking about what you might be interested in, and if those interests will mirror ours or be vastly different. We are excited to see either way - though of course we secretly hope that you love Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, horror/thriller/suspense movies, (when you're old enough), Boston Terriers, (and all other animals too), New York City, shopping for strange things at flea markets, food, conversation and art. We hope that you have little to no interest in Dora the Explorer and Bratz dolls. Again, no pressure - though when it comes to those, we might have to put our feet down.
We wonder if you'll be a girly-girl, a tomboy, or somewhere in-between. We wonder what eye color you'll have since really it could be almost anything given the fairly diverse gene pool you're comprised of. We wonder if you'll be a towhead like John was when he was born, or have a full head of thick black hair like I did. (Interestingly, neither of us maintained the color we were born with). We wonder if you'll be an introvert or an extrovert... serious, silly or both.... gay, straight or bi. Will you want children of your own? God knows we weren't sure for a really long time. We won't push you one way or the other - we promise. (We were very lucky to have parents on both sides who never nagged us to procreate and are more than happy to extend that same courtesy to you).
We wonder if you'll avoid sleep as much as I did from the day I was born, (keeping my parents up at all hours), or if you'll relish your zzzzs the way that John does. (For the record, I still wish I didn't have to sleep. John wishes he could sleep more). We wonder what your obstacles in life will be and hope they aren't too daunting. At the same time, we both know how obstacles can shape you and make you a better, more well-adjusted human being, so we hope your life is sprinkled with a few challenges that will enhance and enrich your life - even if they aren't the most pleasant in the moment.
We hope you know that we always have your best interests at heart, even if you think we're being mean, difficult, unfair or ridiculous.
We hope that you never question our love for you and we hope that one day, you also find love outside of our family to create your own - including your own definition of what a family is.
We hope that you are a caring, considerate soul and have an abundance of intellectual curiosity.
We hope you like us and we can't wait for you to get here!
Tons and tons and tons of love,
Your mommy and daddy
Leigh Hope Fountain
Dammit.
Leigh Hope Fountain
The night before last, I started crying out of nowhere because my boobs were so itchy that I was scratching until the skin was pretty much raw. Then they burned. And aesthetically, they're a disaster. They were once happy, and perky, albeit too large. Now they just look fucking depressed. I'm already contemplating surgical intervention about a year or so from now. Good thing I work with some of the best plastic surgeons in the world.
In any case, my little outburst wasn't fun. The physical discomfort combined with a serious deluge of hormones and an ongoing lack of sleep only highlighted the seemingly endless list of other pregnancy problems I've been grappling with as I delve deeper into the third trimester of what is supposed to be this unparalleled blissful, wonderful, miracle-of-life experience that so many women profess to love.
I call bullshit.
I do not love being pregnant and have a very tough time believing that other women do. I am literally counting the days until I'm done - and I can honestly say with relative certainty that I will not be signing up for this again. If John and I decide we want another child, we will almost undoubtedly adopt. We've always been proponents of adoption anyway - and had even met with an adoption attorney when we were getting the impression that the chances of getting me knocked up were looking less-than-promising.
Am I thrilled to be pregnant, because it means we'll have a baby at the end of it all? OF COURSE - but I am not about to pretend that this is some kind of inexplicably glorious experience replete with feelings of earth-mother beauty and boundless joy. Nope. You know why? Because at this point, I'm pretty much uncomfortable, impatient and anxious 24/7.
While I understand that every pregnancy is different, let's look at some of the more common pregnancy symptoms:
Morning sickness/nausea
Severe heartburn that increases in intensity each month
Back pain
Headaches
Dizziness/Fainting
Leg cramps/Charley Horses
Mood swings (fairly dramatic ones)
Acne
Hemorrhoids
Melasma
Exhaustion
Insomnia
Anxiety
Diabetes (Gestational - 10% of pregnant women)
Food aversions
Sensitivity to smell
Swollen extremities and in some cases, noses
Prominent veins
Incessant urination
Stretch marks
Of the above 20, I've already experienced 17 - and I'm not even out of the woods yet. And don't even get me started on other aspects of pregnancy - like the inability to get comfortable on the subway, on my couch, or really almost anywhere regardless of how many positions I try to contort my ever-enlarging body into, my inability to maintain the fast-pace I'm accustomed to and my inability to walk long distances anymore without feeling like I might go into labor. Given the rather abhorrent humidity in NYC along with temps too high for my liking, I feel borderline house-bound, which makes me crazy.
Pregnancy is a veritable shitstorm of epic proportions. I can only identify two benefits:
1. Thicker, healthier hair
2. You get a baby
I guess the latter is what makes all of the torture more or less worth it - but again, let's get real. This does NOT make pregnancy loveable - it makes it tolerable. There's a distinct difference.
Leigh Hope Fountain
I'm sure most of you have already heard about the story that appeared in Vanity Fair this month: Tinder and the Dawn of the Dating Apocalypse thanks to the online meltdown that followed, courtesy of Tinder's own publicist. If you haven't had a chance to read the article, I strongly recommend it - particularly if you're a parent - more so if you're the parent of a girl. It's a great piece, well-written and quite eye-opening in terms of what the dating landscape currently looks like.
I had two immediate reactions:
1. Thank GOD I am happily married.
2. OHMYFUCKINGGOD we're having a girl. If dating is like this now, what on earth will it be like when she is actually old enough to date?
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not as if I've been hiding under a rock. I was familiar with Tinder before I read the article - and have friends who have happily used the app to date. Ultimately, I get it. It's quite simple really - swipe left to reject, swipe right to flirt/hookup/date/whatever. It's superficial as all hell - especially since there aren't profiles attached - but it's convenient as all hell too. I wonder whether or not I'd be willing to try it if I were single but again, I thank my lucky stars that I'm not because I have a tough time believing that I would find what I was looking for - a serious relationship with someone I could honestly see myself spending the rest of my life with.
Still, it's relatable. I met my husband online. That is STILL surprising to some people. Nevertheless, back in the day, I LOVED online dating. In my mind, it made dating easier - not because of the superficiality - but because it opened up the dating pool dramatically. I was exposed to people who I never would've otherwise met. It also helped eliminate non-contenders quickly. If you sent me a stupid email or an instant message telling me I was sexy/hot/cute/whatever, it was an immediate delete. If you bothered to read my profile - and had something intelligent to say in reply, I took notice.
To me, it was fun. Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete - Hey... wait... This guy's profile is HILARIOUS and he clearly read mine! Hmm.
That was my reaction to John on match.com - the man I'd eventually marry.
By today's standards, online dating is now somewhat archaic - and mobile dating is where it's at. Has been for a while now - and apps like Tinder, as aforementioned, make it incredibly easy - perhaps too easy.
A few quotes from the piece that made me cringe:
"There's always something better."
"It's like ordering Seamless." "But you're ordering a person."
"Sex has become so easy."
"It's rare for a woman of our generation to meet a man who treats her like a priority instead of an option."
*Sigh*
This is depressing, right?
I guess there's the possibility that things have always been this way to some extent - and now its just more visible on account of the invention and undeniable popularity of apps like Tinder.
And the thing is, I'm among the most open-minded people I know when it comes to dating, relationships, marriage, etc. In other words, I don't think marriage and/or monogamy are for everyone, I think everyone/anyone who wants to get married should be able to, (yay for this year's legislation) and I think everyone should calm the hell down on all fronts when it comes to what other people choose to do with their own lives that has no direct impact on yours.
That being said, I really love the idea of our little Gypsy finding someone really, remarkably special - someone who makes her a priority... THE priority, because they just love every little thing about her... even her flaws. I love the idea of her wedding... though I fully recognize that she may decide marriage isn't for her. Regardless of what she does choose, I just hope she finds relationships of substance, where she is treated with plenty of respect and care. I can't say I always was, and from what I can tell, you always want better for your own child.
P.S. Look at this picture. Can people even socialize properly anymore? There might be a Part II to this.
Leigh Hope Fountain
Prior to being pregnant, I rarely consumed much in the way of carbs or sugar. Even if I dared to ingest a carbohydrate, it was usually one of the healthier seed-based types like Quinoa. I knew better than to mess around. I've been pre-diabetic twice and apparently my body just detests anything other than meat, fish, natural fats, (avocados, oils, nuts), low carb dairy and green veggies, (the non-starchy ones). The minute I start experimenting, I start packing on the pounds, and if I let that 'experiment' become more of a regular occurrence/lifestyle shift, I eventually wind up in the doctor's office listening to a warning that I am borderline diabetic and need to rein things in... again.
It sucks, because I generally eat what most would consider to be a VERY healthy diet - even when I am ingesting an occasional carb, so the limitations seem unfair. *Sigh*
Admittedly though, I do feel much better when I stay the hell away from all things carby.
When I got knocked up however, it became much, much harder to resist things like pasta, bread and ice cream especially because certain foods were becoming such a turnoff - even ones that were my "Go-Tos" just didn't seem appetizing like salads, hummus, roast chicken, etc.
I happily let myself indulge in starchy carbs and even some... GASP... sugar in the form of 1/2 and sometimes, whole pints of Ben & Jerry's. Americone Dream? Holy shit that stuff is like crack. Anyway, the carbs helped settle my stomach and while I never had the stereotypical morning sickness, I was consistently battling headaches, heartburn, food aversions and an ever-so-subtle hint of nausea. Me, carbs and sugar became fast friends, and for the past many months, I've enjoyed a much more diverse diet consisting of things I would never normally even look at. It's been GRAND.
Then I went in for the standard pregnancy glucose testing and my pregnancy party came to a screeching halt.
I didn't pass. 147 blood glucose after fasting. (The cutoff was 140). So, I was subjected to round two: the dreaded 3-hour glucose tolerance test. This is where you stop eating and drinking anything other than water at midnight, go to the doc's in the a.m., where they draw your blood (fasting), and then once every hour for three hours after you consume 100 grams of what tastes like pure liquid sugar - a syrupy, overly-sweet concoction attempting to masquerade as a delicious orange or fruit punch flavored beverage.
All the while, you are fucking starving because you're pregnant, and not eating is a bit counterintuitive and going nearly 14 hours without food is outright INSANE.
I brought my laptop to the doc's office and was happily distracted by work, though my growling tummy was a little hard to ignore. At the end of it, I raced over to Le Pain Quotidien and inhaled an iced coffee and an open-faced chicken curry sandwich. I swear it was the most delicious sandwich I have ever eaten.
When I returned to the office, one of my lovely colleagues offered me a peanut butter cup. I didn't reject it, because I knew it would probably be my last - and I was right. The next day, the doc called. "You failed your test." That's exactly how he put it too. For a brief moment, I felt like I had actually done something wrong (and maybe I had), but it was too late now anyway - Gestational Diabetes had taken hold - and there would no more Americone Dream, peanut butter cups or much else in the way of sugary-carby-overly-indulgent foodstuffs in my near-future.
Welcome to my New/Old Normal. I say New/Old, because this is the diet I'm supposed to follow all the time - 365 days a year, without deviation - so in essence, it's new again - but it's old hat for me.
Fortunately, once the sugar and carbs are out of my system, (and apparently they already are), I adapt quickly and the diet part isn't really torturous, despite being preggo.
What IS an adjustment is monitoring my blood glucose level four times a day.
Today was day 1.
Woke up, lanced my finger, put blood on a test strip - waited for the result.
Ate breakfast, (pictured), waited an hour, lanced my finger, put more blood on a test strip - waited for the result.
I'll be doing this one hour after lunch and dinner as well - and repeating this cycle every day for the next 80 days. Pregnancy party this is NOT.
I guess it isn't so bad. If nothing else, I won't gain too much weight during this pregnancy - and seeing as how I had 15 to lose going in, I'll probably be in decent shape.
Leigh Hope Fountain
I have a weird obsession with names. I always have. I'm sure it's in large part due to the fact that I hated my own name until I was old enough to appreciate it. Definitely had to grow into it as they say. By the time that happened, I was also lucky enough to find a man with a cool last name that made my first and middle sound even better, so I married him and did just that. If I hadn't liked his, I wouldn't have changed mine. I've always been of the opinion that you should keep the better sounding name. Call it superficial, call it what you will, but I'm not a traditionalist and I'm not really religious, so for me, it was just a personal preference - and now I'll readily admit that I thoroughly enjoy being complimented on my name. It happens fairly frequently too. It's not too terrible to be outright arrogant about it because it wasn't my doing, right? It was my parents' and my husband's. They gave me the gift of my name and I adore it.
My parents gave my brother a kickass name too. His name is Hayes. How cool is that? If anything, I grew up to be a bit jealous thinking his name is cooler than mine. He also got the better eyes, but I digress...
Anyway, I'm so obsessed with names that I actually knew what our daughter's first name would be long before we even decided that we were definitely going to kid. I've been protective of this name... sharing it with only a select few, fearing that it would inevitably become incredibly trendy overnight were I to share it with someone a little too mouthy.
As social media continues to proliferate and word truly spreads like wildfire, my fear has become even more pronounced - or at least it had - until I finally realized how lame my thinking is here.
Ultimately, names come and go, trendy or not. I've also come to recognize and fully accept the rather polarized reactions we receive when we do disclose the chosen name to friends, family and colleagues. Some flat-out hate it. Others utterly adore it - and certainly there are those who are in-between or simply too afraid to tell us that they're not fond of the moniker. Regardless, we love it, we're not changing it - and we hope she loves it too. If she doesn't, she can be the one to change it. We won't hold it against her, (at least not for long).
If it winds up on a top 10 list, so be it. I guess I'll just have to congratulate myself for finally coming up with something that people respond to. Thing is, I don't actually think there's any real chance in hell of that happening. The name is a bit polarizing because there are unfortunately still a number of negative associations with it, which I think is an absolute shame because of how beautiful I think it is. I have spent ample time trying to think of other names I might like to bestow upon on little girl more and I can't come up with a single one. I'm done trying. This name resonates with me on so many levels:
- It's sort-of strange, but not so left-of-center that it isn't palatable.
- It's girly, (and the trend this year is for non-gender-specific names, so yay for lessening the chances of it becoming popular on that front).
- It's cute but not sickeningly so - and in my opinion, straddles the fence between cute and sort-of mysterious/sophisticated. (In other words, balanced).
- I totally love it. In fact, I'm obsessed with it.
So it's decided. Her name is:
Gypsy Valentina Fountain
Leigh Hope Fountain
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