Germ.....aphobia rears it's ugly head

Know when you start to doubt your ability to carry a child to term and freak out about disease around every corner?

Right about the time they tell you you're expected up in Infectious Disease. Where people with Japanese Encephalitis go (ps: four out of five of them die...only the pamphlet points out that one in five live - a nice touch, maybe, if you're the one guy that made it) or Writhing Nematoads, or some other really freaking, disgusting, Holy Very Scary infection end up.

Like me.

They would not let me check in for my appointment from the doorway. I was laughed at when I produced my very own Lysol and alcohol wipes - really, I was already in agony, no need to add insult to injury, no? Yes, I got diagnosed with something frighteningly disgusting, that usually does not end up in one's failing kidney. Fine. Tell me how to treat it, and I will be out of this office and into a shower in no time. Any clothing entering a hospital? Left at the bathroom door. No, it's not contagious; but other things in hospitals are.

I've had it three times. It involves huge needles that stick catheters up my arms, and nasty horrible headaches, and the antibiotics? Almost worse than the illness itself. (notice, I did say almost) I got C. Diff. Let's just say, if you're interested in losing the lining of your interiors? This is the bug to have. It. Never. Leaves.

So naturally, you can see where lately I've been a tad more....cautious about what I touch, where I go, what I'll put near my face. Things I never gave thought to before: my big one recently?

Elevator buttons, in parking garages.

Sure, there are folks paid quite well to keep hospitals clean; even the stairwells of the parking garage. I've never seen (and would be hard pressed to find someone who has) to find someone, anyone who admits to wiping those buttons down - either inside the elevator, or outside. I've urged small children with weaker immune systems I'm quite sure than mine to belly up to the button, and have a go! Really, I don't mind....could you press five for me? Thank you! What a big boy you are!

I never used to be a proponent of revolving doors - they never moved fast enough, and Fox used to get to frustrated he'd go after the door, the door would stop moving, that obnoxious voice heard overhead to not touch the door.....now? I'm in love. It's the ultimate weapon against the Staph Wars. Or at least one of them. The nicely placed hand sanitizer at the door, should you have been forced to enter in through any other means, thereby using your hands? A thoughtful touch. Too bad it's located right near where all the scary really sick people that need to be picked up because they cannot make it to the parking garage tend to congregate. And cough. Or sneeze. Or....you know...........be so rude as to breathe.

I don't have to touch a door handle. Knob. Push bar. Glass. Even freshly polished glass. Glass I've just watched someone finish polishing? No touch. Don't get me started on handrails on stairs.

J thinks I've really gone round the bend on this one. Truly, he has. He swears he never touches elevator buttons with anything but his knuckles...but hello! Germs are like cooties - they don't stay in one place. If they did? Well. We'd know exactly what to avoid, now wouldn't we? Hmmm? But we don't.

We do know that market carriages carry more E. Coli (found in poop, ps.) than the inside of a toilet. (Gah). I used all those wipes before it was popular, back when everyone thought I was nuts for needing not just one, but two of them, since you should really wipe down the seat, where the handbag is going to rest. Hello! Most people put fragile produce in that space. Or eggs. Or other delicacies that might be totally germified if not for the fab wipes at the door.

I'm trying hard not to get too carried away....I don't boil water, or silverware for heaven's sake. That's what the Sanitizer button on the dishwasher is for. One of my big pet peeves with M? (aside from sleeping with my friends, obviously) is he used to run all his dishes through the system on the "quick wash" cycle. Not. Good. Enough. 26 minutes does not rinse, suds, scrub, and clean dishes. Does the water even heat up thoroughly during a mere 26 minutes? I hardly think so.

J? Now, bless his heart, he cannot load a dishwasher to save his life - at least in the I Can Shove Way More Stuff In There Than You Can Way that women naturally do - but he knows the lowest setting is Pots and Pans. Want to know why I'm such a huge fan of the all in one Cascade Complete packs? No one can skimp out on the soap. And I swear, they have bleach in them.

In olden days, people went to the hospital to die.

In some ways, we've come a long way, baby. In other's? You still go there and die. Even a surprise death, believe it or not. Oh, sure, it's not from nurses or doctors, who wash, sanitize, practically steam themselves clean between patients - I bet you dollars to donuts that the sickest folks in the hospital got that way quite naturally:

They pushed their own buttons on the elevators.

A toast

"To your bravery, and a toast, to your grief."

- "Hanging Up"

I started the movie, reminded of how much I miss seeing Walter Mathau, how talented he was; what a gem we lost....the mother of the doc that she nails with her car sits her down for coffee, listens to the worries she carries, and toasts her, with the words of wisdom above. Words, I've been hard pressed to find, yet ones that carry so much gravity and truth.

I visited Memphis. I realize, at 30 weeks pregnant, with the amount of trouble I - we've - had getting this far (and no, I also realize I didn't keep ya'all posted) traveling is the absolute last thing I should be doing, and yet, Mom said she was looking forward to seeing me. Me. Perhaps, in her own "very special" way, she was; in my world...not so much. I still do not care for cherries. In pie. Jam. Jelly. Preserves. I do not take my coffee black. (I do believe this has been well established). I watched, from the tables edge as J went counter top to counter top with her that I indeed did care for cream and sugar in my coffee; I don't care for cherry anything. I love him for that. I hate the pair of them for her believing him, but not me. As J lovingly pointed out, this is the only "me" she knows...the one she's constructed in her head. The "me" in her mind, I'm supposed to be. Should you find yourself at her house, and I'm there in Memphis, and you can't find me? Run your hand along the woodwork; chances are high I'm simply blending into the background somewhere. It's safer, easier, better that way.

Returning from that trip, I've tried to make peace with who she is, and what she is, her personal challenges, how they've shaped herself, me. So a toast, to my bravery, to go to a house I'd not stepped foot in for five years, five years of holiday memories I'm glad I'm not a part of; and to my grief, for not being a part of them, in a way that would have held any meaning for me whatsoever. For not having the mother I needed, either now, or then, but perhaps, being, the mother my little guy needs, whom Jellybean will need, when she arrives.

ps: that will be sooner, rather than later.

I'll skip the gory details: this pregnancy's been a BITCH. I may well be falling apart, she is (thank the good Lord above) perfectly healthy, if not on the wee side. Who can say "wee" without smiling? Who doesn't adore a tiny little peanut? The best surprises are not always found in little velvet boxes, when perhaps, you've an inkling they are coming. Sometimes, it's when you least expect great news, when you've charted a course, only to find, something amazing got placed in your way, that changes the path, alters a course, leads you to a new you not even you knew you were capable of.

I look back, on the last 30 weeks, in awe that I've come this far - as has she - with kidney issues, and C Diff; infections and vomiting. I marvel too, where I found the strength to go on somedays, okay, lots of days; what a miracle it is that she's doing great.

Life isn't perfect, sometimes, it's messy, ugly, overwhelming, and gritty. We all get through it. One day at a time, one minute at a time, one deep breath at a time.

To our strength, and, to our grief.