The TMI Post: Take Heed

You've been warned.

Also, this is a long post.   Containing various types of TMI. 

I'm not even sure why I want to get this all down, much less post it for all to read.  I guess recording the good, bad, and ugly will make the experience stay real to me.  It's beginning to feel as though I dreamed it all up, and I don't want it to seem like a dream.  I want to keep it real, because I did live it, dammit.  And in order to keep the lessons learned, it needs to stay real to me.

And because I feel that if I thoroughly gross everyone else out with my full disclosure, I am much more likely to scare you into checking for ticks.  This blog is primarily self-serving, but it does have some altruistic intent.  After all, you are people I like.

I suppose the catalyst for this post was the removal of my PICC line.  It was last Thursday.  Once, I overheard it happening in the infusion suite, but didn't see it.  It sounded to be a quick and simple process.  So when it came for mine to come out, I wasn't really worried.  The visiting nurse came to the house, took off the dressing, and basically just whipped it out of my arm.  Way fast.  Way faster than the process I heard in infusion.  The nurse there, Mary, took it out over a period of like 15 seconds and told the guy to cough a couple times.  My nurse, Regina, yanked it out in a matter of 3 seconds and left me staring at the 14" bloody catheter before me.  At that moment I thought, I gotta write it ALL down.

I don't even really know how far back I should go with the TMI.  I mean, it goes way, way back to the week before I went into labor, when I was crazy sick with 6 billion symptoms.  Actually, if you think about it, it goes way back to when I had a disgusting tick attached to me somewhere for 48 hours without even knowing it.  That still makes me shudder.  

I guess the meningitis is a good place to start.

Don't get meningitis.  It is excruciating.  I could not move anything from my shoulders up.  Like not even my eyeballs, my jaw, everything.  If I tried, it was immensely painful.  Plus, the worst headache ever showed up and did not go away for 5 days.  I've never had a migraine, but that is what I assume it to be like.  Sensitivity to light and sound, a lot of misery, etc.

So along with other early Lyme symptoms, I was one sick pregnant lady.  As soon as my OB saw me at the end of the week, she sent me to the ER to test for every ailment under the sun.  And then, in the ER, I went into labor.  I didn't even want to tell anyone at first, because I was... I don't know, in denial or trying to figure out a way to make it go away because I was so scared to give birth in the condition I was in.  But I said something, and we went upstairs, and long story short, it was the worst experience ever by far, but then I had a beautiful perfect baby and afterwards they gave me Percoset.  Yay Percoset.  I've never been on big pain meds before, I could see why people get hooked.  But they aren't for me, I don't even like to take Tylenol.  I'd rather have a few swigs of whiskey if you are going to saw off my arm in a field.

Here's a good one:  After we were released and I went to see my awesome neurologist Dr. Stackman the next day, he sent me immediately for more tests (including a Western Blot for Lyme) because of the Bell's Palsy.  I had to go to the Convenient Care lab.  So, Rick dropped me off and drove around with the kids in the car while I was inside.  When I went into the room, the tech asked me, which arm do you want me to draw from?  I then studied at my arms, stammering a bunch of uhs and ums and I realized what I looked like.  My arms were full of holes from IVs and lab pokes at the ER.  I hadn't showered in 6 days, hadn't slept in 7 days, and had given birth once.  Oh, and half my face was frozen.  If you didn't know me, which none of these people did, I looked like the biggest smackhead in Ithaca.

"Um, I think there's a vein over here, uh, hee hee, heh heh."  Get me out of here.

Speaking of not showering, do you know that if you don't shower for 5 days but don't leave a 10ft x 14ft room for said days, that you won't smell or be greasy?  I do.  I found out.  But, the catch is that you still feel totally gross.

That's enough of my TMIs, on to Rhys'.  OH, but there is one which involves both of us.  The night we were admitted, exactly one week after my smackhead visit to Convenient Care, Rhys had to take his turn and get a plethora of lab tests and get an IV.  Plus, he had to undergo a lumbar puncture.  Basically, it had been a crazy day, we hadn't eaten for God knows how long, and we were exhausted and sick.  When the nurses asked if I wanted to be in the room with him for the tests, I said yes.  They asked if I was squeamish at needles and blood.  I almost laughed, but instead assured them that I was not.

And then, I passed out after they put the IV in but before the lumbar puncture.  Wham.  Face first.

When I came to, seconds later, there was blood on the floor and on me, and two nurses trying to hold Rhys and wake me up, and then a parade of sprinting people wearing scrubs and lab coats came into the room.  I busted my chin open, and they wheeled me down to the ER to get stitches while they finished Rhys' tests.  I laughed through the huge pack of ice on my face, thinking, "Last week, I was being wheeled from the ER to Maternal & Child, this week, I'm being wheeled from Maternal & Child to the ER.  This is my life."  I mean at that point, you just laugh through the grossness.

Poor Rhys.  Seeing your tiny, completely innocent baby suffering is the worst.  It's torturous.  Of course, he'll never remember any of it, and is no worse the wear.  But what he lacks in memory and physical scars, I make up for in emotional scars.  I don't think I can write any of them down.  Those specific instances don't seem like dreams, they seem like nightmares, and I'd rather not remember them.  Plus, I don't think I'll be able to forget, so writing them down is pointless.

But I will overshare one Rhys-related TMI.  It's about poop.  Pretty fitting, since so much of a newborn's life centers around poop, regardless of their health situation.  But for Rhys, just as his system was getting its digestive enzymes on task, it was assaulted by consistent doses of high-octane antibiotics.  The thing about antibs is that they kill all the bacterias, they don't discriminate between  the good and bad.  So the good bacteria that digests food gets eradicated.  And then, the digestive system is completely impaired.

Do you know that poop changes colors while traveling through the digestive system?  I do.  It starts out moss green and soupy, laden with stomach bile.  Then, it turns into a sort of yellow-tan, like the "maize" colored crayon from an old-school Crayola 64 box.  At that point it curdles into a seedy texture, as well.  Then, as it "matures" (Dr. Snedeker's term, which I found hilarious, as if we were discussing a bottle of Bordeaux), it turns brown and solid.

After the first bowel movement, called meconium (black-green and tarry), a newborn's poop turns into the seedy maize stuff.  A few days after he started the antibs, Rhys's poop started getting watery.  Then, it started getting green.  By the end of his treatment, he had raging moss green diarrhea, a broke, blistered diaper rash, and a yeast infection on top of that.  Yes, boys can get yeast infections.  Especially baby boys.

He still isn't regular.  It's getting better, the poop off and on yellow again, but the rash is still there.  And it's hard to tell if it's just his poor tortured hiney, or if it's sustaining yeast.  It's going to be a couple more weeks before everything is totally resolved.  My poor, poor baby. 

So, that's enough TMI, I think.  Besides, it's all I can recall at this time.  There's plenty more, I assure you.  But apparently it's already buried in my subconscious.  I'm pretty cool with it staying there, who knows what all it is.

We have follow-up labs tomorrow.  I'm nervous.  But at least I will be walking into the lab showered and sans track marks.

Don't forget: CHECK YOURSELF AND YOUR LOVED ONES FOR TICKS.

An awesome time was had.

Man, just logging into this blog brought back a flood of hospital memories.  Even though it already feels far away and buried deep, it's still fresh in mind. Sort of ironic, since today's post is about how today was an awesome snapshot of our new life together. 

We got up late, packed everyone up for a day trip in an hour and a half's time.  This is very good.  So far we've been running at about two hours of prep time before setting out of the house for any purpose.  Progress is being made.  Certainly, we've a long way to go before I'm back in fighting form at an average of 1/2 hour prep time to make anything happen. 

FYI, the National Museum of Play in Rochester is freaking amazing.  It might have been the most fun we've ever had.  We could have stayed for days.  Rhys slept pretty much the whole time, but the boys went NON-STOP.  They especially loved the Butterfly Garden, where Jude kissed a butterfly, and Owen ran throughout the place with his little guide, in amazement.  Except for when we witnessed the tortoise jump off a rock and get itself stuck on its back.  Owen was really worried and a little freaked and insisted we get it some help, which we did.  He is so sweet.

We had ice cream, took a train ride, rode the carousel together, and of course, did lots and lots and lots of playing.  There were rooms throughout the place designated as "Guest Rest" rooms, with comfy chairs and a door to shut out the madness.  Perfect for nursing and some quiet time for baby Rhys.  Who, by the way, is doing fantastic.  He smiles, he hangs out, he is sleeping pretty well for a little guy.  Better than the other two ever did.  His poop is still green, he remains plagued by the effects of the long-term antibiotics, but it's getting better slowly.  Some thrush and diaper yeast are sticking around, making him a bit uncomfortable.  But getting better, getting better. 

We ate at The Crab Shack, Cris suggested it, since it was family-friendly and I was worried our kids would be deliriously tired.  They were, but they were actually very well-behaved.  We got there a little early and spent some time in the van beforehand.  I had to feed Rhys, we had to change diapers (including the poop blowout/accident that Owen matter-of-factly informed us of after Rick changed Jude's diaper).  I also had to administer my meds.  Which entails 4 different IV vials and a whole lot of alcohol prep pads.  I was sort of freaked out about doing it in the car, fearing that people would think I was a junkie shooting up with my kids in our borderline-soccer-mom minivan, but it was preferable to doing it by myself in the borderline-soccer-mon minivan in the parking lot of the Museum of Play.  Surely, someone would have called the cops on me.  I would have called the cops on me. 

Dinner was fantastic, the company and the dining equally so.  Well, the company better.  But the bisque ran a close second.  Owen told his peanut butter and jelly knock knock joke, Jude made a mess, Rhys was wide awake.  On the way home Rick and I listened to lots of Tom Waits as we missed our exit off of the thruway.  But the kids were finally asleep, and we have lots of Tom Waits, so it was no big deal, really.  We finished off the trip reminiscing about the Russian Dance event at an after hours party above the Rongo, many years ago. 

Now I'm in my living room listening to a deluge of rain outside as we try to coax Rhys into deep sleep.  That's what life has been like for what seems like a long time now: a deluge.  But maybe it's just always that way.  One deluge or another.  If that's the case, I hope we have a lot more like today. 

Next week starts the deluge of follow-up Dr. appts and lab work.  But for the rest of this week, we're set on enjoying each other and the summer and continuing to make up for the time we lost.  Maybe we'll see you at the Horse Flies' Downtown Concert series' show this Thursday?  What a shameless plug.  But, we missed Grassroots, so we're determined to get our dance on.  It'll be an awesome time!

Remember: check yourselves and your loved ones for ticks!

There's No Place Like It

I'm home.  Sitting in my living room, Rhys asleep on my lap, watching the hummingbird come to the feeder that Rick hung outside the picture window while I was gone.  It's not hot in here, our house stays very cool throughout the day.  Even with the windows open.  Old, airy house.  The kids are napping, it's so, so quiet.  We already popped the bubbly.  OK, full disclosure, that happened a couple hours ago.  But one glass then and one after kids go to bed.

Leaving was so great today.  I had no idea how walking out the main door of the hospital would feel. Beforehand, looking around what came to be called my "dorm room" by the nurses, all packed up and looking like a regular old hospital room, I was sort of nervous.  They take such good care of us there.  What if something went wrong at home?  Who would help me?  So strange, it's almost as if I forgot that I've been a mom for more than three and a half years and three times over already.  We'll be fine, I know that, but I'm sure going to miss having my bed made up with clean sheets everyday.

Walking into the house was a great feeling, as if I had, well, I don't know, been in the hospital for three weeks.  I can't really describe it.  Rick and Owen and Jude made a wall collage out of pictures they had drawn together.  It says, "Welcome Home Mommy, Rhys"  The boys are SO proud of it.  And I finally got to see the amazing and beautiful wind chimes that my amazing and beautiful cousin Morgan made for us.  They're hung in the window in the kitchen, where the breeze can catch them.  She is the best. 

At first, driving through town, walking through Wegmans felt like a dream.  I thought that I'd momentarily wake up inside our tiny room to the sound of a nurse changing Rhys' IV bag in the middle of the night.  But now that I've been home a bit, it's the opposite.  Feels like the hospital, the Lyme, the IVs, the crying kids, the awesome nurses, all of it was one of the epic movie dreams that I'm famous for.  I think it may feel like that until I see someone from the hospital in the outside world, proof that they actually exist.  When someone is getting discharged from the hospital, the staff likes to say, "See you at Wegmans!"  This is their way of saying that they really like you and want to see you again, but don't want for you to have to be at the hospital again.  And maybe Wegmans has some sort of endorsement agreement, I don't know.

I'm finding that being away from home so long does impact familiarity.  Even though we've lived here for 6 years, I keep getting things wrong.  Like, I turned on the wrong light switches in the bathroom.  And turned the faucet handles way too hard and fast so that they flew forward and my hands slipped off.  It's a tiny, tiny bit like being a guest in your own home, similar to when you visit your grandma's for a holiday and know that even though you are 100% accepted in and familiar with your environment, you are not totally accustomed and have to re-assimilate.  I imagine it's a subconscious thing and am sure it will pass soon enough.  Until then I'll just keep reaching for the imaginary call button on the TV remote every time I need Rick. 

Did I say hooray yet?  HOORAY!!!  Despite the fact that our trials aren't over yet (continued lab tests, follow-ups, and my treatment lasts 10 more days), I am so glad to be home and a whole family again.  And to have Rhys free of tubes and monitors and alarms and tags and stuff.  My tiny Pinocchio got no strings. 

Rick is home until August 1st.  We decided that this would be good for many reasons.  We need time to recapture the new family dynamic-oh wait, we never really had a chance to establish one.  So there's that, and then all the follow-ups, and the fact that I refuse to have summer stolen from us.  So bring on the sun, the lake house, the boat, Grassroots, picnics, road trips, outdoor excursions.  And, of course, nightly checks for ticks.  Which you should be doing, too.

I'll write a few follow-up posts, probably.  Depends on how much sleep I'm not getting.  Thanks for taking the journey with me, and for all the support.  Now I know who matters to us.  You do. 

See you at Wegmans!

Like a bridge over Jerry Springer

Rhys smiled at me today.  He's going to be one month old the day he finishes treatment.  I can't believe he was only a week and a half old when we came here.  He weighed 7lbs.  Now he weighs 9lbs and is packing on the ounces every day.  Thank you thank you thank you God. 

I'm growing weary.  Weary of Jerry Springer.  Somehow, almost everyday I am in the infusion center, some other patient is watching Jerry Springer.  It. Is. So. Annoying.  I mean, at this point, even Jerry himself has got to be annoyed at the people chanting, "JERRY!  JERRY!  JERRY!" every five seconds.  It's all I can do to not yell "SHUT UP!"  at the TV.  And I'm not a yell-at-the-TV kind of girl, either.

But I'm also growing weary of this place.  I don't know if I'm finally going a little stir crazy, or that I am anticipating our release on Tuesday.   Probably a little of both.  When we get home and resettled, I am going to open that second bottle of bubbly from Rhys' birthday, and drink it with my husband.  Antibiotics be damned. 

And then the next day, I have to start administering my own treatment.  Yikes.  More about that another time.  I'll wait until I've mastered the technique of not giving myself an air embolism. 

I keep thinking that we should have taken pictures of our time here in order to document the experience.  But I could never bring myself to do it, as if having visual proof that it occurred would somehow be bad.  Like it would prolong the trauma or resurrect the pain many years from now.  It makes me wonder how we will look back at this time.  Will we sum it up in one sentiment?  Or be able to recall the complexity; the humor, the hope, the fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the relief?  Something tells me that we will just shake our heads and say, "That was fucking crazy."

Don't forget, check yourself and your loved ones for ticks EVERY DAY.  Seriously.  It's an EPIDEMIC, if you haven't already heard.

TV sucks.

TV sucks.  Seriously, I can't believe how bad it is.  All of those celebrity and housewives shows suck.  All of the new gameshows with the big epic music and studios suck.  All the sensationalist news channels suck.  Even the history/educational documentary shows suck these days, they're all sold out.  What else, hmmm... oh, the 18 million crime drama shows.  They suck, too.  Except for Bones. 

Maybe I'm being unfair.  Most all the shows I like and watch are not in season.  Survivor, Fringe, Bones, um... that's all I can think of.  The only shows on TV I actually watch now are So You Think You Can Dance and Deadliest Catch. 

Sorry if I've offended you by hating on your favorite shows.  Maybe I need HBO and Showtime and Dexter and Weeds and all that.  Except for True Blood.  That sucks, too.  Thank God for Netflix and free Wifi. 

You know what else sucks these days?  My grammar.  Oh well.  I plead mommy brain. 

Man, this is a very negative post.  In actuality, I'm still very excited to be going home in 6 days, and am in a pretty good mood, too.  Rhys is good, the boys are good, I'm good.  Everyone is impressed with how well I'm taking all this.  I am impressed, too to be honest.  I'm not sure why this is.  I think maybe that the pregnancy was so difficult, that I'm still decompressing.  A couple things I do know:  the support from family and friends, the awesome and trustworthy care of our medical team (and believe me, I know how hard that is to come by), and the awesomeness of my husband and kids are major contributing factors.  Thanks everyone. 

Don't forget to check yourselves and your loved ones for ticks!

Stick.

We are famous in this hospital.  People I have never heard of in departments we have nothing to do with know who we are.  I know I keep talking about this, but being a medical anomaly is very weird and hard to process, so bear with me while I work it out.  This is a self-serving blog, I gave you fair warning, remember?

Anyway, my mom met a new neighbor, whose daughter is a nurse here.  Her name is Liz, and she knows who we are, and she talked to her mom about us.  Her mom knew all about us, and when my mom mentioned it, she was like, "Oh! That's YOUR daughter?"  The thing is, there are no nurses named Liz in OB, Peds, or the Outpatient Infusion Center.  Now I'm all paranoid walking down the hall, thinking that every person in a lab coat or scrubs knows who I am and are smiling at me because they want to contribute positive energy to my plight.  When in fact, they are probably just being friendly and/or adhering to hospital CRM standards. 

Seriously, I need to get over myself. 

It's Rhys' due date today.   Also the 2 week mark in his treatment.  Strange.  It feels both like he was born yesterday and like we have been here forever. 

Last night his IV finally failed.  It lasted a week, which is far longer than the average 3-4 days for newborns.  We knew it would be soon.  The very capable nurses then tried to put another line in, but couldn't make it work.  Three different NICU nurses tried.  It was awful.  However, we did learn that Rhys is an unusually strong 3 week-old baby.  It took two nurses to hold him down while one tried to stick him.  "Stick" is an insider medical term for employing any sort of needle-related procedure, great or small.  I'm totally knowledgeable. 

So, the neo-natalogist came in this morning to start an IV in some other vein, a bigger one or something.  It took him a couple tries, too, but he got it done (I almost gave him a High Five, Jamie), and said he thinks that this one will last awhile as well, providing we take good care of it.  For awhile I thought that a PICC line would be in order, after all.  But then we got the good news.  Barring any unforeseen complications, Rhys' treatment is shortened by a week!  We get to go home next Tuesday!!  This is indescribably awesome. I see the light!

Remember: Don't forget to check yourself and your loved ones for ticks everyday!

The Center is Bell's Palsy and The Daddy Express.

Sorry for the absence.  I did write another post a couple days ago, but there was some sort of glitch in the system and it didn't post.  In fact, it disappeared entirely.  Probably a good thing, since it was basically a bunch of ranting and raving about people who mean well but are offensive and rude.

I will still say something about it, though.  It's important to not ever comment on someone's weight, especially if you have no idea what their situation is.  People keep telling me that I look fantastic, it's not fair that I am so thin after having a baby three weeks ago, etc. etc.  Um, rude.  Maybe I look fantastic to you, but I'm thin because I just got through a pregnancy wrought with high-risk complications.  Oh, and because I have  A DISEASE.  It's not a fun row to hoe, OK?  I don't need to be reminded, it doesn't help me to focus on the positive.  And again, it's just plain rude.

Anyway, enough ranting.  Dr. Snedeker has said that he canvassed the world, and confirmed that if Rhys is absolutely positively diagnosed, he will be the very first baby ever clinically diagnosed with Lyme Disease that was infected transplacentally.  Looks like we'll make the medical journals.  We should get an agent and sell our story.  If our insurance company balks at the diagnosis, we might have to.

Rhys is wearing a onesie today, just like a normal baby.  And I bathed him, which apparently I need to do more often (although it is a huge lengthy process) because as it turns out, his hair is medium brown like Rick and Jude's, not almost black like me and Owen.  Oops.  He's not a fan of his bath.  He made this perfectly clear by pooping all over the adorable and expensive bathmat I bought before he was born.  Good thing it's machine washable.

Mr. Mom (also known as Rick Hansen) sent me a picture of homemade yogurt smoothie pops that he crafted for the kids.  Seriously, he is becoming a better mom than me.  He takes them for a walk in the wagon every night, all bundled up in blankets and with their flashlights in hand.  Owen calls it the "Daddy Express".  How freaking cute is that?  It makes it a lot easier for me, being in here and missing my boys, when I know that their Daddy is so awesome.  Thank God for him.

Cayuga Medical Center wants to put us in their "The Center is You" marketing campaign.  As a marketing professional, I can say that this is an excellent choice, because the Center is quite clearly us, I'm sure you'll agree.  We have spent 16 of the last 30 days here, and used services in 5 different departments in the hospital, including two visits to the emergency room.  In fact, people stop me in the halls and ask for directions now.  I think that it's because I walk so fast and so confidently through the halls, since I know exactly where I am going, as opposed to the people wandering and staring at the direction signs.  Even though I have an IV PICC line hanging out of my arm, a bandage on my face, and a patient bracelet on my arm, they ask me how to get to where they are going.  Oh, and the fact that half my face is frozen adds to the overall picture of wellness in their eyes, I guess.

After Sage asked me to do the campaign, I said, "OK, but I'm not really in any shape for a photo shoot right now.  I have big dark circles under my eyes and my hair is all frizzy and my skin is all pale..." "And you have Bell's Palsy, Carly, probably we'd wait until that resolved." she replied.

Oh yeah, good point.  Probably not the image the hospital want to project, huh?

Don't forget to check yourselves and your family for ticks!!!

Who You Callin' a Visitor, Bitch?

Some nurse that I've never met just came in and said that I need to wear a visitor's sticker on me after hours.  She was very prissy and bossy.  She also said that if I didn't want to wear it in the room, I didn't have to.  Like she was doing me a huge favor by not making me put the sticker on my pajamas and then waking up with it pasted to my face.  I wanted to say that it would look more suspicious if I went walking around after hours with an IV hanging out of my arm and a visitors' tag on, too, but I didn't say that.  I must be really tired.  But maybe I'll do it and if a security guard sees me, I'll run away with a big fake limp.  Good times.

The peds ward is tough.  Right now our next-door neighbor is a little boy.  He cries a lot, in pain and just because he's scared, I think.  His mom comes every day at about 5:30, and leaves every morning at 7:30.  Then he is alone.  My heart breaks for this little boy, but even more so for his mom, I think.  I'm assuming she has to go to work and leave her sick boy alone in the hospital.  I seriously don't think I could do that.  Fortunately our amazing nurses take great care of him.  I do not know how they do it.  It's like enduring the most difficult part of motherhood over and over again every day.

Tomorrow I'm going to go to the Farmer's Market.  At the hospital.  Yes, the Farmer's Market at the hospital.  This is Ithaca, after all. 

Don't forget:  Check yourself and your loved ones for ticks!

Carts and Cranberry Juice

They sure do push a lot of carts around here.  I hear at least ten carts per hour in the hallway.  What the heck is in all those carts?  I mean, there is the dining cart, but that comes around only a few times a day.  The others I can think of are housekeeping, laundry, bio-waste, sharps, medical equipment, maybe like inventory restock.  But those are just a few, there's no way they constitute ten per hour.  It makes me think that Sarah Jessica Parker sent me and Rhys a robot to escape in, but the robot got lost or distracted. 

I really, really want to know what is in the carts, but I can't figure out a way that won't make me seem creepy and weird to the staff.  I could ask, I'm sure they would tell me, but that's weird.  Or, I could open the door a bit to check it out, but that would be creepy.  There are blinds on the window that goes to the hall, but I don't want to peer through a crack in the blinds every 5 minutes, because that won't seem creepy or weird, it would just make me seem downright abnormal and they might call the doctor thinking that I have progressed into the advanced stages of Lyme infection, which can make a person sort of loony.

Janine just came in and said that we were too easy to take care of.  Really?  I feel weird enough about having people at my beck and call 24 hours a day to do anything I ask them to, I don't need a complex about it.  I've hit the call button many times by accident.  I would be so annoyed at me if I were Janine.  Which is why I would never be a good nurse, and why they are amazing nurses. They really want to help us any way they can. 

The only thing I really do depend on them for is middle-of-the-night cranberry juice with ice.  They only have styrofoam cups here.  I hate everything about styrofoam, but it is becoming oddly comforting to me.  For instance, if I wake up at 3:20am (or rather, when Rhys wakes up at 3:20am), and have to nurse and inevitably hangout for an hour or so afterward watching TCM and trying to get Rhys back to sleep, cranberry juice with ice in a styrofoam cup brought by a nurse is an absolute must have.  More so than morning coffee. 

And now please excuse me while I snuggle my baby and drool over Legolas.  Don't forget: check yourself and your loved ones for ticks.