Meeting Bono

I've been talking about doing a duet with Bono for years. It's been my dream. I've just always been a big fan and I love the sensuality and emotion in his music and the way he sings it and I would LOVE to stand next to him on a stage and belt out his tunes right along with him...or do a new song with him. I don't care who writes it. Okay, we can write it together in a studio. I won't complain.

Aw. Look at that. Someone got a tattoo of Bono on his arm.

Creepy.

Anyway, one night an old friend of mine informed me that he had a connection that could get me introduced to Bono. U2 just happened to be in town giving a concert and, though I didn't have tickets to the concert, there was an opportunity for me to meet him. OF COURSE I took it! HELLO!

I was so excited it took me like three hours to find the outfit I was going to wear. And I think I did my makeup twice before I was satisfied. It was so surreal - like a dream. Even though I was so stinkin' excited, I was panting all evening getting ready, part of me felt like it was too good to be true.

Finally, the hour arrived. I had to have my husband drive me because I was shaking. We arrived at the hotel in Phoenix and my eyes darted about in the lobby, looking for my friend...or Bono, preferably Bono. I didn't see anyone I knew and I could feel my heart start to sink. I thought, "Yeah, there's no way it would be this easy." I turned to my husband and pulled a sad face. "Are you sure your friend is really going to meet you here?" He asked.

"Yeah. Well...I don't know. He said he would. Why would he lie?" I replied, looking about the lobby anxiously, gritting my teeth.

I eventually grabbed my husband's arm and pulled him toward a sofa in the lobby.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"Let's just sit down for a minute. I'll try to call him on my cell." I replied, a hint of disappointment in my tone.

As I was taking my seat, I heard a voice calling out, "Hey, Kristin! You made it!" My heart immediately resumed pounding out of my chest and I jumped up. It was my friend.

"HEY!" I called out, a little TOO excitedly. "Of course! I wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything! I'd give birth in the lobby if I had to!"

Dead silence. My friend pulled a face. I glanced up at my husband. "What?" I asked. I was just being funny. I was nervous!

"That's a bit much, hon", my husband replied.

ANYWAY! So, my friend tells me Bono is up in his penthouse suite on the top floor and I followed him to the elevators. The ride up seemed to take forever. I could feel my knees starting to shake at this point. I was worried they might give out and I hadn't even laid eyes on the man yet.

"So, what are you planning to say to him?" My husband asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.

"You don't KNOW?!" He asked, exasperated. "Are you serious?"

"HON!" I shouted. "I've given it TOO much thought already, okay? We'll just see when I meet him. Don't worry about it!"

FINALLY, I heard the ding of the elevator. We had arrived. The doors slowly opened. My stomach back flipped and I felt like I was going to throw up. My body felt stiff. I took one step and my leg wobbled a bit. My husband reached out quick to steady me.

"You okay?" He asked, concerned.

All I could do was nod. There was only one door on the top floor. The entire top floor was a suite. Bigger than my house. My friend knocked. I began panting. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! This is insane!" I panted.

"You okay?" My friend and husband both asked at the same time.

I shook my head and folded my arms tight across my chest, doing everything I could to not pass out. Suddenly the door opened. I glanced up quickly. It wasn't Bono. It was some other guy in a suit.

"Hey, I've got someone here who wants to meet Bono. He knows we're coming", My friend stated.

The guy opened the door completely and stood back. My friend entered first, then my husband, then me. I was kind of hiding. I was so nervous. We walked down a very short hallway and the room opened up, full length windows around the entire perimeter of the room. There was a black grand piano off to the left, all white carpet, white sofas. And there he stood at the wet bar, holding a glass, then taking a swig. He called out to my friend.


"Heeeyyy", my friend responded.

I grabbed the back of my husband's jacket and peeked out like a shy little child. I just stared him up and down. He was beautiful. I felt like such an idiot, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't think of anything to say. I couldn't get my wits about me. It was all I could do to not melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Where are you?" I could hear my friend laughing.

"She's hiding behind me", I could hear the embarrassment in my husband's voice.

I swallowed hard and released my tight grip on my husband and slowly walked out from behind him.

"Hello", Bono responded.

I released the breath I didn't even realize I was holding. His voice was beautiful. That accent! I just wanted him to say "hello" a few more times. The room fell silent and I just stared at Bono who locked eyes with me and just stared back for a moment. "Hi", I released in an almost whispering tone.

Bono looked away and took another swig from his glass. He set it down hard on the counter. "Ahhh", he sighed over his drink. "So, did you have somethin' you wanted me to sign?" He looked at my friend since I seemed to have trouble speaking for myself.

Suddenly my husband stepped forward and offered his hand. "Hi, I'm Bertrand. I'm her husband." Bono walked over, his hand outstretched and shook my husband's. I was so jealous. "Hello. Nice to meet you. Where are you all from?" He asked.

"France", my husband replied.

"France!" Bono exclaimed. "I've been there a few times", he said. Everyone laughed.

Just then Bono offered his hand to me. It caught me off guard. I jumped slightly and exclaimed, "Oh." I could feel my face burning.

"I'm not goin' to hurt you", he laughed in response. I chuckled nervously, my face burning hotter. Everyone laughed then and I just wanted so badly to rewind and start over. What a disaster!

I grabbed his hand. Mine was ice cold. I could feel that it was, but this was my big chance to touch Bono and I wasn't about to pass it up. I gripped his hand tightly and shook it hard. "Hi", I said as I shook it nervously.

"Hello there", he replied.

"You're Bono", I immediately responded, almost cutting him off.

"Duh!" My husband laughed.

"Actually, your real name is Paul Hewson", I continued idiotically.

"That's right", he responded very calmly, locking eyes with me. I stared into his eyes and could feel myself getting lost.

"Can I call you Paul?" I asked in a soft, dreamy voice.

"Sure", he responded, still staring into my eyes, our hands still clutched tightly together.

"Can I call you Paulie?" I pushed further.

"No", he replied very curtly.

I hung my head sheepishly. "I understand".

"Come here", he cooed and grabbed me in an embrace. "Give us a hug then. It's nice to meet you, darlin'."

I melted instantly. He called me DARLING! AAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Okay, I know. He probably calls everyone that. Well, all WOMEN, that is.

Then he pulled me back and kissed me on each cheek. I swallowed hard and my face burned again. Though I've always felt that people who stated, "I'll never wash my cheek again" after a celebrity kissed them were complete whack job fanatics, I thought that very thought to myself at that very moment.

"My friend here writes music. She's a singer/songwriter", my friend piped in.

"That's nice", Bono said, staring intently into my eyes.

"Thanks", I gushed. "I-I" I gulped hard again. "I was thinking we should do a duet sometime", I blurted out maniacally.

"Oh really", Bono chuckled.

"She's a good singer", my husband offered up.

Bono walked back over to the wet bar and poured himself another glass of whatever he was drinking. "You have an agent?" He called across the room.

I hung my head and shook it, disappointed. "I don't know how to get one. Do I need an agent to write music with you?" The words sounded so desperate and stupid the instant I finished speaking them.

"It would help. I mean, I don't know you. I've got a lot goin' on right now. It's not that easy, darlin'. But you should just keep doin' what yer' doin', you know? Just keep workin' hard at it. Get out there. Perform. Maybe someday we'll hook up and work on a song together. All right?"

"Yeah", I whispered, disappointed, and stared at the ground, pushing the carpet around with my shoe.

I heard my husband release a big sigh and felt his arm around me then. "You should hear her sing. You should hear her music. It's really good. She just wrote a song for a movie and...well...they didn't take it, but it's dang good. You should hear it", my husband persisted on my behalf. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest.

"Do you have somethin' for me to hear?" Bono asked.

My hopes shot up just then. "Yeah!" I practically shouted. "I've got a CD here in my purse!" I pulled it out and walked across the room to Bono, tripping up on the carpet and stumbling forward.

"Whoa. Whoa. Easy!" Bono called out, reaching his hands out and catching me. My cheeks burned once more. At that moment, I felt so emotionally exhausted, I just wanted to go collapse on a bed and sleep and pretend this never happened so I could have a second chance.

Bono took the CD then and handed it to the guy in the suit. "Can you put this on, man?" He asked. My eyes followed the CD over to the stereo system. My breathing became shallow. My heart fluttering in anticipation. That sick feeling returned to my stomach. I instantly worried that he might not like it and then I'd REALLY feel stupid. He popped it in and pushed play. The room fell silent. You could feel the tension so strong. We waited. "Where was that first note?" I thought. The anticipation was killing me.

Then it started in. "BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP."

"WHAT?!" I shouted. "This isn't my song!"

"What IS this?" Bono shouted. His hands clasped over his ears.

"This isn't my song! I swear! It's not my song!"

Just then I sat up in bed, a cold sweat across my face, my heart pounding, my breath panting.

(SIGH) "Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

It was just a dream! WHEW!

Okay, now that I have your attention, let's get serious. I did find a way to directly contact Bono. We'll see if he responds. THAT is the truth. I'll let you know.

What's The Bladder With You!

So, if you thought my delivery story was an experience, how about my gallbladder story? Now THAT was good times. Let me tell ya'. I don't know why, but I have THE MOST bizarre experiences of anyone I know. There is absolutely no embellishing going on here. No fabrications. Just straight, ridiculous truth.

After my nightmare delivery experience, I returned home and settled in. I had a plan. The same plan I always had after delivering a baby. Dry up my milk ASAP! I don't breast feed. I just can't do it. It's too hard for me. Many have deemed me strong and courageous, but those people have never seen me attempt breast feeding. I bound myself up really tight - almost to the point where I couldn't really breathe, and barely ate anything. The weight was just falling off of me in large chunks. Things were going along great. Then, almost one week later, I began to notice trouble breathing. I mean REAL trouble breathing. My chest felt really tight. I thought, "Oh great. I've got my binding on too tight. I'll let it out a little", and I did. And that didn't help. The pain continued. In fact, it great in intensity. So, I let it out a little more - no relief. Finally I gave in and took the whole dang thing off. The pain was so bad, I could barely breathe. I felt shooting pains down my left arm. I thought, "Oh my gosh! Am I having a heart attack?" I've never had one, but I imagine that was what it felt like. It was intense. I was scared. I couldn't lay flat in bed. I couldn't sleep. I gasped for air and stopped breathing several times in my sleep. One night my husband rolled over and said, "Are you having a heart attack or what?"

The next morning was my birthday. I sat up in bed and instantly felt pain like someone had just stabbed me. I gasped for air. I couldn't speak. I was just gasping and wailing. Bertrand tried to lift me up and help me, but I became hysterical. I didn't know what was happening to me, but the pain was more than I could bear. I felt like I was going to pass out. Bertrand called my mom and she came running over to watch the kids so I could go to the emergency room.

The emergency room was packed. Bertrand dragged me in as I clung to his side. A nurse ran up behind me with a wheelchair and I sat down and took small, shallow breaths, trying to answer the questions as best as I could. Then they wheeled me into a waiting room and there I sat...with all of the other emergency patients. I closed my eyes and prayed in my head, "Please. Please, don't make me wait long. I can't stand it. I feel like I'm going to pass out. I don't know how much more of this I can take." After a while, I was wheeled behind a little curtain and asked some questions. I explained that I was having chest pain, but when I pointed out where my pain was originating from, the doctor said, "That's not your chest." Whoops. He decided I needed an ultrasound to see what was going on in there.

And so I was wheeled back out into the waiting room.

Several minutes later I was called back again and wheeled behind another curtain where my blood was drawn and an IV was started...well...attempted, in my left arm. She couldn't get it in and it was hurting so bad, I was crying out. "I just have to get it past this one point. Hang in there, honey", the nurse kept saying. I was panting and moaning. I was already in terrible pain and now she was trying to force this huge needle into my arm and it was NOT going. She finally gave up and pulled it out. "Okay, let's do the other side, then."

"Noooo. Please." I moaned. "That hurt so bad. I hate IV's. Please don't do another one."

"Sorry, hon. I have to." And so she put it through the other arm and I panted and moaned like a huge baby.

The IV was situated in my right arm, right in the part where you're supposed to bend your arm. I don't know what that's called, but I had to keep my arm straight. My right arm. My dominant arm. The nurse then asked me to go into the bathroom and leave a urine sample. HA! RIGHT! "I can't bend my arm. I don't know how I'm going to hold the cup and wipe myself," I said, a little anxiety in my voice.

"Just do your best. If you need me, I'll be right outside." Needless to say, I made it work. No WAY was I going to have a nurse holding a cup underneath me, trying to catch my pee.

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting area. Where I sat and waited. For a long time. About an hour. A nurse came out and put warm blankets around me. It felt nice and I buried my face in them and tried to sleep.

A while later I was called back again and this time had an ultrasound done. When the tech ran the ultrasound wand over my right side just below my chest, I yelped in pain. "Yep, just as I thought," she said.

"What? What is it?" I frantically inquired.

"The doctor will go over the results with you later", the nurse replied.

I closed my eyes and sighed, laying my head back. "Oh great," I thought. "This doesn't sound good."

And then I was wheeled back out into the waiting room where I sat and waited. For another hour. It was still difficult to breath. I felt nauseated. I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Finally, a nurse came out and said, "Okay, you're going back to the ER."

"I am?" I asked. "I thought I already WAS in the ER." Apparently I wasn't. The nurse pushed me through some double doors into absolute chaos. There were so many people in the actual ER, there weren't enough beds. The walls were lined with moaning, coughing people, some lying very still with their eyes closed. They almost looked dead. This was a scary sight. "Oh no," I thought. "This does NOT look good at all." I was wheeled around a corner where an empty bed was lying.

"Okay, hop up on there," the nurse said in a chipper voice. I looked down at my IV in my arm, thought about the pain in my chest, realized I was still leaking milk and other fluids down below from having a baby and said, "Umm. I don't know how I'm going to climb all the way up there." The bed was high. She lowered the bed quickly and I sat on the edge. Then the nurse grabbed both of my shoulders and tried to force me into a lying position. I started panting and gasping for air. "Ow!" I yelled. "No. Please. I can't lie flat. I can't breathe."

"What?" she asked. "What do you mean you can't breathe?"

I then proceeded to explain my symptoms to her. Then I burst into tears. "I just had a baby a week ago. I'm bleeding and leaking milk and I can't breathe and..."

"Oh my gosh!" She shouted. "We've gotta' get this poor lady into her own room. She can't be lying here in the hallway!"

The tears flowed freely now. I was so exhausted and in so much pain. It was now 2:00 PM and I hadn't eaten all day either. Not that food was particularly on my mind, but I was experiencing some intense hunger pains on top of everything else.

A few nurses got together in a huddle, trying to figure out where to put me. All of the private ER rooms were occupied. They all suddenly turned and faced a particular room in the corner. There was a police officer standing in front of the door, acting as a guard. "Let's move him and put her in there."

"Oh no," I interrupted. "I feel bad making someone leave a private room just for me. I'll be okay."

"No, it's fine, honey," one of the nurses replied. "We just have a homicidal maniac in there, so we need to move him to a more secure location."

"A homicidal maniac?" I thought. "No. No. No need to move him. Put me in there with him. Let him kill me. Let him take me out of my misery."

But alas, the homicidal maniac was moved. I looked away. I didn't want to make eye contact. I was afraid he'd come find me later and my suicidal thoughts were only fleeting. And so I was placed in the room and told to undress and change into a hospital gown.

A nurse came in and introduced herself as MY nurse. She explained to me that the first doctor who saw me doesn't normally come back into the main ER, but he wanted to stay with me through the case, so he was coming back to see me. The guy looked like he was about my age or younger. He came in and confirmed my worst fears. "You're gallbladder is bad. Really bad. It definitely needs to come out."

"Oh no," I moaned. "Does it HAVE to?"

"Well, of course you can refuse. But you'll most likely be back in here again soon, so...you can either take care of it now or later," he replied very matter-of-factly.

He explained that I would also need a blood transfusion, as I was severely anemic. I looked at my husband in horror and he grabbed my hand and held it tight. "Well, hon. What do you want to do."

I started to cry. "Why is this happening? Why? I don't have time for this. I just had a baby. I have a bunch of other little kids at home. I need to go home to my babies. I need to get back to work."

My husband looked at the doctor. "See how she is?"

"You've got to take care of yourself first if you're going to take care of all of those other things," he explained.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head, more tears running down my cheeks. I was afraid and angry and stressed all at the same time. "Fine," I said. "Go ahead. Do what needs to be done with me."

And so Bertrand went off to work. There was nothing more he could do for me anyway, so I sent him on his way. And my nurse returned and explained that she would need to start another IV in my other arm, same location.

"WHAT!?! WHY?!" I nearly shouted, starting to sob again. "Is that REALLY necessary?"

"I'm sorry, hon. It is. You need one IV for the blood transfusion and one for all of your other medications." And so she started one as I looked the other way and sobbed and moaned....like a huge, blubbering baby.

When she was finished, both arms were outstretched with IVs. I couldn't bend either one. She placed a call button and phone by my right shoulder and said I could call someone if I needed to and just to push the buzzer if I needed anything. And then she walked out. I looked down at both of my arms and looked over at my right shoulder. "Ummm....how would I even reach either one of those?" I thought to myself. "Oh well," I sighed and laid my head back.

Then it started. An itch on my nose. I lifted my arm to scratch it, only to be reminded I could not bend my arm. I lifted my other arm and tried to cross it over my face to scratch the itch with my arm. It didn't work. I panicked. "Oh no!" I said aloud. "What do I do?" I looked about the room frantically. Searching for an answer to my dilemma. I tried to turn my head and scratch my nose against my pillow, but I couldn't crank my head around far enough. I raised my right arm again and tried rubbing my nose on my arm. It still itched like crazy. I grunted and panted and rubbed my face into my arm feverishly, trying to scratch the itch. Thank goodness no one came in during that. I must have looked insane.

Alas, I accepted defeat and threw my head back against my pillow and moaned and started fussing again. "This sucks. I hate my life right now. Why? Why? Why?" I moaned, as I thrashed my head back and forth on my pillow.

Now, let me just say - I will never be one of those inspirational stories. I will never be that person who suffers tremendously, but stays positive and inspires others. No. Not me. I'm the one who sits in the wheelchair in the corner, bitter, hating the world and everything in it, throwing curses at whoever sets foot near me. THAT would be my story. Thank goodness it wasn't anything permanently debilitating or life-threatening!

After what felt like an eternity, my nurse returned with medications. "Okay. I'm giving you some morphine and..." I don't know what else she said. Morphine sounded great to me. That was all that mattered in life at that moment.

"Okay," I sighed in relief and laid my head back, shutting my eyes and waiting for the high to hit.

"Someone will be here in a minute to take you up to your room, okay?" She said and then smiled at me and rubbed my shoulder. "You're going to be feeling a lot better tomorrow, dear. Good luck." Then she left.

I laid there, eyes closed, enjoying my little trip to the moon. Suddenly the doors opened and I saw two blond girls in scrubs standing before me.

"Hi," I mumbled, drool spilling from the side of my mouth. "You guys look like twins." I noticed they both looked at me funny, but I didn't care. I was feeling groovy and I was ready to go for a ride. (I saw those two later. One was tall and thin. One was short and fat. They looked NOTHING alike.)

They wheeled me out of the room, accidentally hitting the bed against the door. I jolted and my head fell to the right. I saw an old man lying in a bed outside my room. "Bye. See you later," I mumbled in a dopey voice. The old man didn't respond. They wheeled me down a long hallway. I felt like I was in space. "Take me to your leader," I slurred, more drool hanging out the side of my mouth.

"What? Did you say something?" One of the girls asked.

I heard the other one respond, "She's on one. She just said 'take me to your leader'."

"Ohhhh," she drawled. "Okay. You're gonna' be fine. Don't worry."

I was coherent enough to understand, but apparently not enough to control my speech. I felt instantly stupid.

When I arrived at my room, I was transferred to a new bed and situated. My new nurse introduced herself, took my vitals, and told me to buzz her if I needed anything. Then she asked if there was anything she could do for me before she left. I requested that she turn off all lights, turn the TV on to the spa music channel, and shut the door. I just wanted to sleep until it was over. And that's what I did. I was given a shot of morphine as often as I wanted. And I just laid there...rotting.

At 9:00 that night, a surgeon entered my room, introduced herself and told me my surgery would be at 1:00.

"1 AM?" I asked.

"No, 1 PM tomorrow afternoon", she said.

I shut my eyes and moaned. "I'm starving. Can I have something?" I asked.

"You can have all the ice chips you want," she replied. "Now try to get some sleep."

That night a nurse came in with two units of packed red blood cells to transfuse me with. She explained that I might feel dizzy, nauseous, and my entire body might become terribly itchy. She told me to notify her if I felt any of those symptoms. GREAT! I was NOT looking forward to any of that. Fortunately, I experienced none of those, but I did experience a strange taste in my mouth during the process and I just felt icky, especially when I looked over and saw blood dripping into me. Goobers.

That night I also heard a lady next door to me retching violently all throughout the night. The next morning when my nurse came in and asked me if I was ready for my surgery, I replied with "Yes. I can't wait to be out of pain."

"Oh yes. You'll feel so much better. Gosh. There's a lot of you in here right now for gallbladder surgery. The lady next door to you just had it done last night."

My eyes popped out in horror. "Oh no. Are you serious?" I said.

"Why? What's wrong?" She chuckled.

"Umm...that lady was throwing up all night and it sounded violent over there", I moaned.

The nurse pulled a funny face and said nothing.

"That's not gonna' be me, is it?" I asked.

"Well, that lady is a lot older than you, so hopefully not," the nurse replied.

Skipping ahead, my surgery occurred the next day, as scheduled. It was a long night and long next day in that hospital bed, waiting for my surgery. The doctor had explained that I would have mad diarrhea even after just drinking water, once my surgery was complete, and this would last quite a while, possibly for the rest of my life. She also explained that I would be in a lot of pain and it would take weeks to recover. She also said it would hurt to breathe for a while too. This did not sound good to me and I cried all night long amid shots of morphine and SOME sleep, but very little.

Once my surgery was complete, I was taken back to my room. My nurses were all wonderful and took great care of me, but one in particular who amused me was from Russia. Her name was Elizabet. She was so sweet, but had a heavy accent and spoke in broken English. One concern from my nurses was that I was urinating enough after my surgery, so they would always ask me the same questions over and over - "When did you last pee? Do you need to pee now? How much did you pee the last time you went?"

But Elizabet was different. She would get right in my face (hello - ever heard of personal space?) and say, "Did a you make a pee pee?" and she'd actually take her index finger and thumb and make the sign for small, accenting the word pee pee in a staccato tone. This always cracked me up and it was all I could do to not laugh my head off every time. I wanted so bad to respond with (in her same accent) "Oh yes. And I a make a nice poo poo for you too. I make it a so nice."

Ah....anyway.

I started to feel so much better after my surgery. My first meal in 48 hours was dinner that night and it consisted of vegetable broth and a popsicle and juice. The morphine kept coming, which was great. I made sure I took full advantage of that. That night I laid my head back and decided to get some good sleep for once. I turned off all lights, turned on the spa music and laid my head back, drifting off to the moon again.

"Hello! HEY! HEY!" I heard a crotchety old voice calling out. I squinted my eyes shut tighter and moaned.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting continued.

I released a frustrated sigh and opened my eyes, blinking against the bit of light coming through my doorway.

"Hello! Hello out there! Hey!" The shouting persisted.

"What's the matter?" I called back.

"Get in here right now. I need help!" The voice shouted back.

"I can't! I've got IVs in my arms and I'm strapped into my bed. Call the nurse." I groaned back.

"That's what I did! HEY! HEY! HEY!" She continued calling out.

"PUSH THE CALL BUTTON!" I shouted back.

But the shouting persisted. "Oh my gosh. Stupid lady." I moaned quietly to myself. I squirmed about in my bed, flailing my arms at the call button, trying to hit it, but to no avail. I still couldn't bend my arms very well and it was situated up by my head. I tried hitting it with my nose, but my nose couldn't withstand the pressure required to push the button in, so I stuck my tongue out to try and reach it. It was truly ridiculous! Just before my tongue touched the button, I heard footsteps running in the hall, coming in our direction, so I backed away and listened intently.

"What's the matter?" the nurse called out, running into the old lady's room.

"I want more juice!" The old lady shouted.

I could hear the nurse opening another juice box for her and then she shut off the old lady's light and walked away. I rolled my eyes in the dark and laid my head back, attempting to drift away with my morphine again.

"HEY! HEY!" The shouting started up again. Only a couple of hours had passed.

"OH MY GOSH!" I groaned aloud through gritted teeth. "Use your buzzer, you idiot! I'm trying to sleep over here!" Of course, I said this to myself. She couldn't hear me. This continued on all night long. It was terrible!

FINALLY, the next evening, around 5:00 PM, I got to go home! HALLELUJAH!

In spite of all of the craziness, the staff at the hospital were wonderful and took excellent care of me and I went home feeling 90% better and recovered quickly and painlessly.

Who's On First?

We've all been sick around here. We've all been cooped up in the house. The kids are going nuts, as am I. So, I decided to give my ladies a break and take them for a Sonic run and get them a little treat. I also decided to treat myself to a little cherry limeade even though the fizz hurts my palate and esophagus. I decided to just let it burn since I was already in pain with a sore throat anyway. My girls asked for a white coconut slush.

(SIGH) Ever have one of THESE conversations with your kid?

SYLVIE: Hey mom.
ME: Yes?
S: Did you get a cherry limeade?
ME: Yep.
S: Did I get a cherry in my drink?
ME: No, honey. Yours won't have one. You ordered a coconut slush, so there's no cherry.
S: Well, I just want a cherry in mine.
ME: I'm sorry, honey. There's no cherry in yours.
S: There's no cherry in yours?
ME: No. There's no cherry in YOURS.
S: Oh. There's no cherry in yours.
ME: NO! YOURS!
S: Yours?
ME: (SIGH) Mine has the cherry, honey.
S: Oh. Mine has the cherry?
ME: No MINE does.
S: MINE does?
ME: NO! MINE! MINE! MY DRINK! NOT YOURS! MINE!
S: Okay, mine does. Not yours, okay mommy? Just mine.

I fell completely silent. I was baffled. She was just not getting it and I didn't know how to explain it. At this point we had our drinks and I was driving toward home.

S: Hey mom?
ME: (SIGH) Yes, honey?
S: Did mine get a cherry in it?
ME: No, honey! NO! There's no cherry!
S: There's no cherry?
ME: No. Sorry, sweetie.
S: So, you didn't get a cherry too, mommy?
ME: Nope. Nobody got a cherry.
S: Nobody?
ME: Nope.
S: Mom, did you get a cherry limeade?
ME: Yep.
S: So, how'd you get a cherry? You got a cherry mom.
ME: I did?
S: Yeah mom! You did. You really, really did!
ME: Oh. Okay.
S: And I got a cherry too.
ME: Mm hm. (I decided just to agree for the sake of avoiding another argument)
S: I did, mom? I got a cherry?
ME: (HUGE SIGH) Sweetheart! Listen to me! My drink has a cherry and yours does not!
S: Yeah. My drink has a cherry and mommy's drink didn't have a cherry.

ME: OH MY GOSH! Listen! You got the cherry! Okay? You got it! It's in my drink, but I'm just gonna' give it to you when we get home, okay?

S: Okay, mommy. Hey Chloe, I get a cherry in my drink. Mommy said.

AAAAHHHHHHHH!!! She wins again!

The Stage Name...

...this is one of THE most important aspects of being a performer. You have GOT to have a cool name. Ever heard of Carey Grant? His real name was Archie Leach. No joke.

Tonight, as my husband and I were driving home from an evening out with the kids, we were listening to the radio (because that's all we've got going on right now in this '99 minivan), and I noticed that all of the songs were about "rock stars". First Pink with "So What I'm Still A Rock Star" played followed by Nickelback's "I Wanna Be a Rock Star". So I commented on that little observation and said, "Watch. They'll play that other rock star song by that one guy....oh, what's his name? Dang it."

BERT: Who?
ME: You know, that guy with the long, blond hair? He always wears the wife beaters. I can't stand that guy. Oh man! WHAT is his NAME!?
BERT: I don't know who you're talking about.
ME: You know? Pam Anderson dated him. They almost got married.
BERT: That doesn't help me. What are some of his songs?
ME: Oh! I can't think right now. The radio is distracting me. He wears hats like yours sometimes, honey. You know who I'm talking about? (Bert was wearing a fedora during this conversation, by the way)
BERT: Is his name Chris something?
ME: NO! No, it's not Chris.
BERT: Ummm.....(mumbling to self) Chris....Chris.....man!
ME: It's not Chris, Honey. It's not. I know it's not.
BERT: Hmm. Let me think. (Mumbling to self again) Chris....Chris....
ME: It's not CHRIS! (Laughing) It's not Chris at all. Not even close, Honey.

So? Are any of you readers figuring out yet who I'm talking about? I was going NUTS trying to remember this guy's name. I was ready to have Bert pull over to the side of the road just to ask some random person walking down the street because I was SURE they would know the answer.

Finally! Four streets away from home it hit me - the name.

ME: KID ROCK! It's Kid Rock!
BERT: Yeah! Okay. I knew it started with the K-sound.
ME: MAN! I'm so glad I finally figured that out! That was driving me NUTS!
BERT: I need a cool name.
ME: You mean like a stage name?
BERT: Yeah. What should I be called?
ME: How 'bout Frenchie?
BERT: Nah. Not that.
ME: Okay, how about....?
BERT: Something like Kid Rock, but not that.
ME: What's rock in French? Isn't it caillou? You should call yourself Kid Caillou! HAHA!
BERT: NO! (Getting agitated) That's not cool.
ME: Hmmm...you need something edgy. (Mumbling to self) Something edgy...

Suddenly we got a suggestion from the very back of the van.

SYLVIE: How 'bout Wedgie?
ME: YEAH! That's it! We'll call you Wedgie! Thank you, Sylvie.
SYLVIE: You're welcome.

Bertrand was not amused.

Ah, He Kills Me!

The following are ACTUAL conversations between my husband and I:

B stands for Bert, K stands for Kristin. Ready? Set. Go!

B: Hey, honey. How many of these pills should I take?
K: I don't know. Read the side. It'll tell you. I can't remember the dose for that medication.
B: Should I take one or two?
K: What does it say on the side, honey?
B: It says two for adults.
K: Okay.
B: So, how many should I take?
K: Well, you're an adult, so two would be the correct answer.

SERIOUSLY!?!?! Yes. This conversation actually happened. And it WASN'T for headache medication either. GEE WHIZ!

B: So, how was it?

K: Awkward.

B: Why?

K: There was this lesbian who kept staring at me. It was just uncomfortable.

B: How do you know she was a lesbian?

K: Well, somebody else there told me and I could tell anyway. She wouldn't stop staring at me and it was one of those, "I like you" stares and I mean "like" in a non-friend sort of way. You know what I mean?

B: Well, if I was a lesbian I'd stare at you too, 'cause you're hot!

K: (Jumping on him and kissing his face all over) Oh honey! You're so romantic!

A New Form Of Capital Punishment

So, I'm all for capital punishment. I know, I totally shouldn't get political on my blog. That's when opinions start flying and razor tongues start cutting.

But, seriously, the punishment should fit the crime. Somebody kills, they should be killed. It's just my personal opinion and this happens to be...oh, look at that - it's my blog. I can say whatever I want! YAY!

Now, I don't know what these people did (the dancers), but this appears to be some show where they actually AIR the criminals being punished right there on TV. I think Germany is onto something...



By the looks on their faces, I don't think they'll be committing any more crimes. I don't know that I necessarily agree with allowing children to view this harsh form of punishment, but perhaps they're simply instilling in their minds the consequences of committing crime. Ten years from now that country will be crime-free. I'm sure of it. Time for America to adopt some German policy, hmmmm?

On a side note, I must say - good thing they're not on So You Think You Can Dance. Their personalities really aren't showing through in their dancing. Mary Murphy and Mia Michaels would pick them apart for sure!

I Know Cool People

It's true. I do. You probably do too, but they're probably not as cool as the people I know:

1. Maurice Dew. He's a rapper. (Pretty fly for a white guy). He just dropped a new album called "For The People". Check it out.
Order it at: mauricescrapbook.blogspot.com

2. Dan (The Man) Poulsen. He's an entrepreneur (and my l'il brutha). He designed a line of watches called Mica. I love them so much I steal my mom's occasionally and wear it about town. I get compliments on it every time...because it's awesome. I want one for Christmas. You got that, Santa? (Santa reads my blog.)

Here's one of my favorites. It's called The Baron (Munchausen).


And this is The Plank. I dare you to walk it/I mean wear it!

These are just TWO of the styles he's designed. All of his designs come with different wood and face options. You're not cool until you're wearing one of these. Don't worry, I'm not cool either...yet!

Check out and order watches at: micamove.com

3. Laurel Amenta. She's also an entrepreneur (and my cousin). She designs decorative tiles. I was lucky enough to be bestowed one for my birthday, but I'll be ordering another. Everyone who came over and saw it lying on my counter LOVED it and wanted to know where I got it from, so I'm posting it here. She has several different options and takes custom orders.

You can contact her at: 480-430-9705.

4. Kylee Palmer. She's a seamstress (I'm super jealous). She designs ADORABLE little girl and now boy clothing.

I totally want two of these for my ladies.

You can see her designs and order them at: ragdollclothing.com.

5. Ravi Sinha. A published author. This man is an immigrant from India, an extremely talented and tender-hearted man. I had the honor of typing two of his books, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but this particular one reduced me to tears as I typed it for him. It's a very touching and inspiring story. It's called "In Pursuit of America: My Dreamland."


You can order it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Pursuit-America-Dreamland-Story-Immigrant/dp/1434303985/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1255564207&sr=1-1

The Delivery Story/Nightmare

Well, it's been a long time coming, but here goes - a story that's been tough for me to tell. It was so traumatic that it took me several days to stop crying over it.

Now, some of you may be able to top this story, maybe even by a long shot, but when you have certain expectations and NOTHING goes according to plan, it's pretty upsetting - especially for someone like me who always has plan A, B and C in place before I do anything.

It all started with a random e-mail. The end of July I received an e-mail from an unknown sender. I know you're not supposed to open unknown e-mails. They could be dangerous. But this one had a very intriguing subject line. It read, "Kristin Coppee. A miracle will happen for you on August 13th". A miracle? I thought. Interesting. After a few days I told my husband about it. I even posted something about it on my facebook. I was making a joke of it. I don't believe in random e-mails like that.

Now, let's go back in time to the morning of Sunday, August 9th. I had been suffering Braxton-Hicks contractions throughout my last trimester, which was typical for me. However, with each week, they became increasingly aggressive and uncomfortable and began to feel more and more like labor. On Sunday morning, I was SURE I was in labor due to the fact that despite my efforts to stop the contractions, they would not let up and were coming closer and closer and harder and harder. Finally, I gave in and we called my mom who ran right over and took my ladies to her house so Bertrand could take me to the hospital. I gripped the door handle and breathed through my contractions as Bertrand squealed out of our cul-de-sac, flew over a couple of speed bumps and drove to the hospital like a maniac. Each of my children came with a quicker labor so we were pretty certain this one would pop out in the car if we didn't arrive at the hospital fast enough.

Upon arriving to the hospital, I was whisked into a room, placed in a hospital gown, and checked. I was dilated to a 1. That was it. A lousy 1! I felt so discouraged (with Chloe I was sent home from the hospital three times and I was NOT too thrilled about the possibility of being sent home even ONCE with this child). The nurse watched my contractions and said, "They're coming close together and pretty hard, so I'm sure your cervix will change. I'll leave you alone for about an hour and we'll check again later. Just let me know if anything changes before then, okay?"

"Okay", I grumbled and heaved a sigh. This was already shaping up to be a replay of my former nightmare - The Chloe Delivery!

Just then I turned to talk to Bertrand and noticed his head was in his hands and he was slumped over in his chair.

"Honey? Are you okay?" I asked, a little concerned.

"No", he mumbled. "I feel terrible. My head hurts so bad and my throat is really sore."

"What? Really? You feel that bad? You seemed fine at home." I couldn't believe it. I thought surely he was exaggerating. And how dare he take the attention away from me. I was in labor and suffering! I needed him to dote on me. I needed him to help me breathe through contractions. For those of you who don't know The Chloe Delivery story, he was suffering with terribly painful abscesses due to MRSA and was laid out on a stretcher right next to me as I delivered my daughter, only to hold her a few minutes and then be whisked off to an emergency surgery. NIGHTMARE! I thought, "Oh not again. Don't you dare try to die of some strange disease again! Not while I'm delivering your child!"

Several hours later the nurse apprehensively entered the room, avoiding eye contact with me.

"I know what you're going to tell me," I muttered.

"I'm so sorry. I feel so bad." The nurse responded.

I heaved a huge sigh. "This is ridiculous! My body needs help. My other doctors all induced me because I go into labor, but my body can't finish. My doctor told me he'd help me."

"I know, but the problem is your doctor is not on call and this other doctor says you're not far enough along to be induced." She stated apologetically.

"I'm a few days away from 38 weeks!" I nearly shouted.

"I'm so sorry. The doctor said I could give you a light sedative."

"Look, it's okay. It's not your fault. I'm just frustrated. I'm miserable. I have been for weeks. My body doesn't do it alone, so I'm going to have to be helped, but I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I'm getting no sleep and I can't even function and I have three other kids at home. This is just ridiculous!" I finally stopped my rant, realizing the poor nurse felt terrible, but could do nothing.

I went home and my husband's condition worsened. The following day, Monday, he stayed home from work. His fever was relentless. He was shaking and sweating and looked just awful. He told me he wanted to go to urgent care.

"Urgent care? Come on, hon, it's just a bad cold or flu or something. We don't need to be spending money on urgent care expenses. It'll go away. Just be patient. I know just what you need. Stay there. I'm running to the grocery store."

With that, I grabbed my purse, limped to the car and drove to Fry's where I purchased Vick's Vapo Rub (Chloe used up all of our supply - see story several posts ago where she rubbed the entire jar through her hair), V8 juice and more pain killer. I came home, ran my husband a hot bath and poured him a glass of V8. "Honey, drink this, rub some Vicks on you during your bath and after and go climb into bed, cover up and sweat it out. You'll feel great by tomorrow. I promise!"

The next morning he was much worse. At this point his condition was so bad, he had lost weight (which he doesn't have to lose in the first place), was pale and sweating profusely, burning up with a fever, and literally crying and begging me to please take him to urgent care.

I left my teenage son home with my ladies and drove up the street to the urgent care. I limped in alone, contractions going like crazy, and asked what a visit cost there (we have no insurance on my husband).

"$220 to be seen," the receptionist stated, opening a booklet. I could feel my eyes popping out of my head.

"And then", she continued, "Let's see. If he has any tests done that will cost more, depending on the tests, and then..."

I held up my hand. "That's enough. Sorry. That's WAY too expensive for us. We'll go elsewhere. Thanks anyway." With that I limped back out to the car, stopping halfway to catch my breath. My body was aching and laboring and I just wanted to sit and put my feet up, but that was not an option. I drove like mad to the next nearest urgent care and ran in. Their price was $98 flat. I ran and motioned for Bertrand who slowly made his way to the building, his body so weak, he shuffled in like a 90-year-old man. His fever was so high he couldn't even think straight. I had to fill in all of the information for him.

Long story short, he had a severe case of Strep throat, running a temperature of 104. OUCH! I felt TERRIBLE!

Wednesday, August 12th was another typical day - painful, heavy contractions all day long. I continued about my business, suffering, growing increasingly tired from lack of sleep, as the contractions would continue all night long every night. My neighbor, Vickie, felt bad that Bertrand was suffering from Strep and I was so miserable, that she offered to bring dinner over and I gladly accepted. When she arrived with dinner she could see that I was in terrible pain. She called for my son to bring her a stop watch and as she served dinner to my children (Bertrand was back in bed on medication, still suffering himself), she timed my contractions.

"These are really getting closer and heavier, it seems. You really ought to go in," She advised.

"No way," I replied. "They've already sent me home once. And with Chloe they sent he home three times. I am NOT going through that again. I won't go in until my water breaks."

Vickie insisted on staying and monitoring me. Bertrand began to worry. He was still very sick and contagious, but my contractions were getting to the point where we knew delivery was near. He called the bishop in a panic and asked him to come give him a blessing to heal him. Our bishop ran right over with one of our home teachers and when they walked in on the scene, the bishop couldn't believe his eyes. Bertrand sat in one chair, pale and feverish, hunched over, and I sat completely sprawled out on the couch opposite him, moaning and groaning, breathing through heavy contractions.

"What in the world is going on around here?" He chuckled in disbelief. "This is crazy!"

After listening to my bishop, my husband and my neighbor insist for several minutes that I get to a hospital immediately, I finally gave in and agreed to let my neighbor, Vickie, drive me. Bertrand stayed behind with the kids and my mother drove over right away to stay with the kids so Bertrand could go back to bed.

On the way to the hospital I again gripped the door handle and breathed through heavy contractions - all the way to the hospital - all the way in the front doors - all the way to the observation room....where they completely stopped! COMPLETELY! And I was perfectly fine.

That was it! That was the final straw. I was so upset, I was beside myself at this point. I couldn't take it any longer. They were going to have to get that baby out or I would reach up in there and get him out myself.

Again, the nurse came in and informed me that my doctor was STILL not on call and the same doctor who had turned me away days earlier was intending to turn me away again. Tears began rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't even speak.

"Oh, you're not sending her home," Vickie insisted. "She's been in labor for weeks. You've already sent her home once. She's not going home again."

"Ma'am, I understand," the nurse began, "but we have to follow the doctor's orders. My hands are tied. Her contractions aren't happening right now, she's only 38 weeks, and this doctor won't induce unless you're 39."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. Get her admitted. She's having this baby," Vickie persisted.

The nurse left the room and returned a few minutes later. "Okay", she said. "The doctor said I can admit you as a 'sleeper'. That means you'll be given a shot of morphine and monitored over night so you can get a good sleep. The next morning your own doctor will come in and assess you and decide what to do with you, okay?"

"No. I don't want that. I don't want to be in the hospital over night only to be sent home again. I'm leaving." I began to get up from the bed.

Long story short (AGAIN - there's a lot of these), after speaking with Vickie and my mom and husband for several minutes, and upon hearing the nurse's insistence that I take this offer, I agreed. I was wheeled into a labor and delivery suite, given a very long, painful shot of morphine in my right upper arm (it left a huge, disgusting bruise that covered almost my entire upper arm), the nurse surrounded me with pillows, turned on the spa music station on the TV, turned out the lights and left me with Vickie.

Earlier, back in the observation room, I had relayed a story to Vickie of how back in my Chloe days, a friend of mine massaged my feet for an hour because she said it would help induce labor and my water had broken from that incident, which allowed me to finally deliver Chloe at exactly 38 weeks. Vickie immediately reached into her purse, pulled out lotion and said, "Would you like a foot massage? I can give you one. I'm not that great at it, but I'll give you one."

"Oh no," I replied. "You don't have to do that. I was just saying that it's supposed to bring on labor, but I'm fine. I've got my morphine. I'm going to get some rest."

But Vickie insisted and after very little persuasion, I let her. She sat at the foot of my bed and massaged my feet for quite a while. It felt really good and I started to fall asleep. Her cell phone rang. It was her family. They needed her back. I felt so bad for keeping her from her family for so long. She had saved my sanity and now she had completely relaxed me. I was drifting off into dreamland....completely relaxed - drifting....drifting...........my breathing becoming more rhythmic.........

POP!

I sat straight up in my bed. My legs suddenly felt very warm. I rubbed my eyes and squinted in the barely lit room. The clock on the wall showed 12:00 midnight exactly! It was August 13th. (Remember the random e-mail? Bum! Bum! Bummm! Spooky). It was then I realized - my water had just broken. Vickie had just finished rubbing my feet only two hours ago. Looks like the massage worked (I told her she should really start a side business).

I pushed the call button for the nurse. A voice on the other end responded, "Yes. Can I help you?"

"Ummm..." I began a little hesitantly. "I think my water broke?"

"Oh good," the voice sounded genuinely happy and excited. "We'll send your nurse in right away." I laid back in bed and smiled in relief. Suddenly I heard a faint cheering coming from outside my door. Apparently all of the nurses at the nursing station were cheering me on.

My nurse came rushing in with a big smile on her face. "Oh, I'm so happy for you. This is great. Now you REALLY won't get sent home. You're gonna' have this baby!"

"Yay!" I replied.

And so, all of the preparations were made. I let her know I wanted the epidural and that my other labors had happened fairly quickly once my water broke, so she called the anesthesiologist right in. The nurse was impressed with how well I took the epidural. "Wow!" She exclaimed. "You did great! Good girl!"

"Well, I'm totally doped up on morphine," I reminded her. "I barely felt that." (It's the way to go, ladies. Get a shot of morphine first. It's painful, but not nearly as painful as the epidural.)

After I was all settled in and resting comfortably on my anesthesia, the nurse readjusted my pillows, turned out the lights again, and turned up my spa music. "All right, hon. Let me know if you need anything."

I lay there smiling in the dark. FINALLY! This was going to happen! After all of the suffering. My sweet baby boy would be arriving very soon, I thought to myself.

Early the next morning I called Bertrand. "Honey, my water broke last night. I'm on the epidural and I'm going to be having this baby soon, so you might want to get down here."

Because Bertrand had only been on antibiotics for his Strep throat for 24 hours, the nurses hesitantly agreed to let him be present as long as he promised to wear a mask and gloves. He rushed down to the hospital, my mom not far behind him. Upon their arrival the nurse informed them that I was still at a 4 and they were getting ready to start Pitocin to help me along.

And so we all sat and visited. An hour passed.

And another.

And another.

"Wow, honey! I thought you said this baby was coming soon," Bertrand quipped.

I heaved a big sigh. I was tired of laying on my backside in the bed....waiting - something I'm not very good at, by the way, in case you don't know me well. Heck, you don't even have to know me well to know I'm not good at the waiting game. My mom and husband went to the hospital cafeteria to grab some food. They were starving.

So was I. HOWEVER, because I was now on the epidural and in labor, I was not allowed to eat. I got ice chips. Glorious, tasteless ice chips. Wonderful. Bertrand scarfed his food down and paced around my bed, checking out all of the equipment I was hooked up to, crunching away at his Doritos.

"You know, you're not being very nice right now, honey," I glared at him in frustration.

"Sorry, babe. It's just payback for making me suffer with Strep throat for days." He laughed. Alone. Not funny.

Just then a nurse came in and checked my vitals and monitors. "Hmmm..your oxygen saturation is low. I think the morphine is having a bad effect on you," the nurse said as she pulled out some oxygen. "Here. You're going to have to wear this for a while, okay?" She started to put the mask over my face and I panicked.

I batted at the mask and turned away, gasping for air.

"Honey, this is oxygen, what's wrong?" she asked, fighting against my resistance to get the mask on.

"I can't," I gasped and sputtered. "I can't just have oxygen put on me like that. I have to ease into it."

Yes, you read that right. I have to EASE into oxygen. Why? I don't know. I'm a freak of nature. It's this whole anxiety thing about something being put over my face that's blowing into it too hard. I can ride a rollercoaster just fine. I can ride on a motorcycle just fine. I can ride with the windows down in my car just fine - all activities, which produce a lot of oxygen blowing in my face. However, the mask is a different story.

ANYWAY...

My mom and husband were giving up on me and I was exhausted. I wanted my sleep. My mom went home and Bertrand fell asleep in the chair. And I lay there, my backside aching from so much pressure from all of my weight for so many hours. I tried to sleep, but the alarms kept going off signaling that my oxygen levels were low. I tried to keep the mask on, but it was uncomfortable. I wanted my dang sleep. My labor had pretty much stopped. I was not progressing at all. Hours had passed. My frustration grew more intense. I started to feel hopeless. Would this baby EVER come out?!

The nurses had to come in every hour or so and turn me in the bed. Now, these were tiny nurses and I was a whopping 198 pounds. Yeah! 5' 4", 198 pounds. NOT pretty. NOT cute in any way, shape or form. Every time the nurses came in and prepared to turn me, I'd warn them about my weight. "I hope you work out because you're about to lift 198 pounds of dead weight," I said one time. The nurse just chuckled and said, "Oh honey, don't worry about it" and then would grunt and groan as she tried to turn me in the bed. I was on an epidural and completely paralyzed. I tried to use my arms to help turn myself, but I have no upper body strength, so I was pretty much useless. I was a beached whale. Literally. Get a visual in your imagination. Google it and check out the picture of what that looks like. I don't need to post a picture, just check out the beached whale and imagine my head on it. Cut and paste one if you need extra help visualizing that. Go ahead. You have my permission.

Several more hours passed. I was reduced to tears. "This is ridiculous!" I cried. "My last two babies came so fast. This is turning out to be just like my very first delivery. It's taking forever!" It was now 4:30 PM. I had been sitting at an 8 for several hours. I had been laying in bed on an epidural NOT progressing! I was completely uncomfortable and exhausted. I just wanted it to end! I felt like I was letting everyone down - all the people waiting. My doctor kept coming in and checking me and making statements like, "Any time now. Within an hour you'll be delivering." My parents brought the kids down and kept them in the waiting room. Everyone was SURE this was going to happen at any moment.

Another hour passed.

And another.

Nothing. Still an 8. At this point they were running Pitocin through me every 10 minutes. They were just pumping it and pumping it and checking me constantly.

Nothing.

They raised the bed up so I was in a seated position. Everyone sat in chairs at the foot of the bed. Just staring. Another nurse walked in just then.

"Welcome to the freak show," I stated, motioning with my arm toward the small crowd. "Take a seat and enjoy."

"Aw, come on, honey. This will be over soon," my mom tried to reassure me.

"No. No, I've given up on ever having this baby. He's gonna' come sometime next year, I think." I heaved a big sigh.

"Oh no, dear. You have to have this baby within the next 24 hours. We'll take him by C-section if we have to," the nurse responded.

I smiled weakly. I was joking. Apparently she thought I was that stupid. I looked stupid. That's for sure. I felt ridiculous! I'm surprised no one made signs, "SAVE THE BEACHED WHALE" and posted them about the hospital. I'm surprised a news crew didn't show up and do the big story. Literally. Big. HUGE!

It was nearly 7:00 now and my doctor came in to check again. Still an 8. His wife had called and scolded him, warning him that he had better get home for dinner. Or else! He apologized and left the room. I was a hopeless cause. He gave up. Someone else's turn to deal with the mess.

Another doctor entered, shook my hand and tried to reassure me, "You'll have this baby soon. I promise." He checked me and said, "Ah, a 9 now. See? Not much longer." Everyone stood around watching. Waiting. I started to feel quite a bit of discomfort.

"I think my epidural is starting to wear off," I advised the nurse. "It's really starting to hurt."

"Are you going to be okay?" The nurse asked.

"Well, yeah - if the baby comes soon. My epidural was only half when I had Chloe and I did fine, so I should be fine."

Half an hour later I was FINALLY ready to push.

"Okay, let's do this," the doctor stated, positioning my legs (with much help from the nurses and my husband) in the stirrups. "How good are you with pushing?" The doctor asked.

"Oh, I'm really good at pushing. I had my last two babies out in 2-3 pushes, so this should go quickly," I assured him.

"Great!" he replied. "On your next contraction go ahead and push."

I felt my stomach start to harden, I felt the pain begin and increase in intensity.

"Okay, push!" the doctor and nurse both called out at the same time.

I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed my legs and beared down. That's when I felt it. The intense, burning, ripping pain of natural labor - no epidural. It was gone. Done. Over. This was 100% natural. Just the way I DIDN'T want it.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed. "I can feel it! I feel everything! I don't want to! It hurts so bad!"

"Just push" the doctor and nurse yelled. "You can do it!"

I pushed and yelled out. "NO! I can't! I can't do it! OH MY GOSH! I wanna' die! Please! I'm gonna' DIE! AAAAHHHHH!!!"

The pain was so intense, I can't even describe. You can never know the feeling unless you actually go through it. I NEVER want to feel that again. I felt like I was ripping in half. It was intense, it was traumatic, it was frightening. I yelled and groaned and called out to God to please take me away. I looked to my husband with desperation. I could see the horror in his eyes. Tears were welling up in them. He had never seen me like this. My other labors were wonderful, quick, easy, painless....pleasant, if you can even fathom putting the words pleasant and labor together. Yes, I had experienced pleasant labors.

Not this time. This was horrific! I felt like it would never end.

Ten pushes later, the head was still stuck. I couldn't get it out.

"GET IT OUT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" I screamed. "PLEASE! PLEASE!" I pleaded out loud with God again to PLEASE take me out of my misery. Please spare me.

Just then the doctor stopped, looked up into my eyes and our eyes locked for a few seconds. I could see the worry and it scared me. "What's happening?" I sobbed. "Pleeaaase. Please help me. It hurts so bad I can't stand it."

He reached over and grabbed an instrument. The light caught it and the gleam shone in my eye. It was a knife. I gasped.

"Gah" I sputtered as he cut me. I felt it. I felt my body being cut open. Everything fell silent. I couldn't hear. My ears were ringing. My teeth began chattering.

And then suddenly the silence was interrupted. "Push!" The doctor and nurse called out again. I gasped in a big gulp of air and bore down hard.

"Yay! The head is out!" Everyone called out at the same time. The doctor began moving his arms about in a strange motion, working feverishly. Again, I could see desperation on his face. I wanted to push again. I wanted the pain to stop. I couldn't stand it. Why was he making me wait? What was he doing?

Finally he called out again, "Push. This is it. Let's get the shoulders and out!" I pushed hard a few more times and FINALLY! I felt instant relief. Somewhat. The intense burning was still very present. I still get twinges of that pain from time to time. I fell back against the bed and gasped for air, sobbing in between breaths.

But there was no sound. No crying baby. The doctor didn't hold him up for me to see. The room fell silent and the doctor continued to work feverishly at the bottom of the bed. My baby out of my sight.

"What's happening?" I managed in a weak voice.

"Just cleaning the baby up," the nurse assured me.

"Oh," I replied and fell back against the bed again, still trying to catch my breath.

Just then the doctor turned abruptly, my baby in his arms, and walked briskly to the warmer. The nurses followed and gathered around, blocking my view. Nobody said a word. The doctor continued to work feverishly. Still, no sound coming from my baby. I could feel fresh tears welling up in my eyes. I had no idea what was happening, but the feeling in the room was not a good one.

"Why isn't he crying?" I called out. "Is he okay?"

I don't know who said it, but somebody tried to reassure me that he was still "getting cleaned up."

FINALLY, I heard a cry. A huge sigh of relief washed over the room. Everyone suddenly looked more relaxed. My son was wrapped in a blanket and brought to me. It was then that I was informed that the reason I couldn't get him out was because the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck twice and he was blue and not breathing. It took the doctor a few minutes to get him going. Very scary. I'm so thankful that my son and I survived that horrific ordeal.

When the nurse took me to the bathroom to clean up, she kneeled down at my feet to help me and looked up into my eyes, hers filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I feel so terrible. We should have given you another epidural bolus. We just didn't know what to do. We didn't want you to have to sit around for four hours afterward waiting for the feeling to come back".

"It's okay," I whispered through teary eyes. "I thought I would be okay too. I am. I'm fine. I'm just glad it's over."

Eventually I was wheeled to my recovery room with my son. We made a very brief stop at the nurse's station. Apparently word had already arrived there that I had been through a traumatic delivery and needed to be drugged up and left alone. "Oh you're the one," I heard repeatedly over the next several hours. "You poor thing." All this did was induce more tears and sobbing.

Despite the beautiful drugs they gave me and the fact that they took my son to "the cottage" for the night so I could sleep, I lay awake in a dark, lonely room, reliving my delivery experience over and over and over, sobbing all throughout the night.

Unusual Car Fresheners

I walked into a convenience store today to buy some gas. There was a basket with a sign that said "HOMEMADE CAR FRESHENERS $3.00 EACH. I was intrigued. They were very large Ziploc bags with an interesting substance inside. I decided to look through the basket and see what scents there were as the cashier rang me up. I picked up the first baggie. The sticker on it read SEX IN A HOT TUB. I could feel my eyebrows raise in reaction. I was curious. I didn't realize sex in a hot tub had a smell. I quickly glanced at the cashier to make sure he wasn't watching. I felt kind of naughty. He caught my glance and looked down sheepishly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

I waved the baggie in front of him and said, "Wow! This is an interesting name for a scent."

He kind of chuckled and, still staring at the floor replied, "Yeah. Sorry. My friend makes those. He asked if he could sell them here. Sorry about the names."

I grinned and slid it back in the basket. "A man made these, huh?" I said. That made sense. "Well, now I'm curious about the other scents in here." I rummaged through the basket and pulled out another. The sticker read SEX POISON UNDER MY TONGUE. I nodded as I read it, "Yummy."

The cashier leaned forward, trying to read the sticker. I turned it around so he could see. He scratched his head, nervously shifting on his feet, "Oh man! These are bad. I gotta' put these behind the counter. I'm really sorry, Ma'am. I didn't realize..."

"No. No. It's okay. Look. Here's cherry", I said as I pulled out another, trying to reassure him that they weren't all bad.

"Yeah, I think my friend's a little crazy", he said sheepishly, his face turning a deep purple at this point.

I sniffed a couple more. I'll spare you the names. They were pretty raunchy. The smell was actually really pleasant. Unusual, but pleasant. I liked them - the scents, not the names. I decided to buy one. I placed it on the counter and said, "I'll take this one. It smells good."

The cashier read the sticker name. It read ORGASMIC. Now, before you judge, I bought it because it smelled good, not because of the name. The cashier giggled and I grinned and chuckled.

"Yeah, well...you see that little white car out there?" I pointed to my sad little car sitting at the gas pump.

"Yeah", the cashier replied.

"That's mine. It's a Hyundai Elantra. It's not a bad car, but you get more than 2-3 people in there and it starts to feel like sardines packed in a can."

The cashier nodded in response.

I continued, "You see, I've got four kids that I jam pack in there with me. So, if your friend's homemade scent here is going to make riding in a Hyundai Elantra with a screaming infant and two whiny toddlers in the back seat an orgasmic experience, then he's gonna' end up a billionaire!"

And with that, I took my car freshener, tromped out to my little tin can on wheels, opened it up and placed it under my seat. It smells good...

Good For A Laugh

I'm a Rob Pattinson fan. I'm not gonna' lie. It's too late for that anyway. I've posted enough nonsense about my drool fests. Can't take it back now. It's on the world wide web.

HOWEVER! This is too funny to not post. We can all laugh about it, right Robby?

Heads Will Roll!

Aw, look at my little angel sleeping. Isn't that so sweet?

NO!

No, it's not! There's nothing sweet about that! Let me explain:

She just got through doing...

THIS!

Oh, here's a nice little close up shot for ya'.

That's right! She completely cleared all clothing from the rack of her closet, threw down several books from the top shelf (approximately 20-30) and proceeded to try everything on and strew it about the room.

I was ready to KILL! Apparently Chloe was her accomplice. No surprises there. This was their little "project" while I cranked out some transcription work today.Oh, now this is a cute picture. Aww. I love when they snuggle up and read together. Sweet little girls....

Wait a minute! Focus!

These children are not sweet! They're evil!

Just look at this mess! She actually said she was making pictures for me. Yeah! Can you believe the nerve - trying to pass this off as ART?!?! HA! You know how long it took me to clean that mess up?

Aw, now I remember that. They wanted to wash my car to help me because baby Zander was hurting my belly and they heard me complaining to their papa about how dirty my car was. (Sigh). Those little ladies...so swee....

Wait a minute! You're doing it again! Trying to throw cute pictures at me to make me forget how super naughty you are! Well, I haven't forgotten about...

THIS! Do you realize we had to throw out half of our game closet because of you two? Well...we did and I am NOT happy about that!

Stop it! These cute pictures aren't working on me anymore!


I said STOP it!THAT'S ENOUGH!!!

(SIGH) Oh, I give up! YOU WIN! Okay!?!?! Happy now?!

Terror In The Night!

"Mommy! Mommy!"

My eyelids fluttered. The high pitch of the faint screams slightly roused me from sleep. Though only a narrow hallway separates the master bedroom from the girls' room, the loud hum of the floor fan in my room drowns out almost all sound.

"Mommy! Mommy! Aaahhhhh!" The screams came again. This time my eyes shot open and were immediately drawn to the light of my alarm clock. 3:10 AM.

"Mmmm" I groaned and shut my eyes again.

"Mommeeeeeeee!" I could tell by the screams it was my 2-year-old. She had never awoken in the night like this. The sound of her shrill screams, growing louder by the second, frightened me and I thought something must be seriously wrong for her to be screaming this way.

I attempted to shoot up into a seated position, but my large, rock-hard belly forced me back against the bed. My head hit my pillow with a thud.

"Mommy! Mommy!" The wailing continued, growing even louder. My heart was pounding with fury and my breaths became pants. I attempted to sit up again, but failed miserably. Suddenly I felt a stabbing cramp in my side.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to reach her in time, I threw my arm behind me, frantically smacking at the space behind me, searching for the warm body of my husband.

"Honey. Honey. HONEY!" I finally shouted, continuing to bat at him, awkwardly attempting to awaken him.

"Huh? What? What's going on?" He mumbled deliriously.

"Babe, something's wrong with Chloe. She's screaming and I'm stuck. I can't get up. She's screaming louder and louder. Something's wrong. Please! Hurry! Run!" I pleaded desperately.

He rolled out of bed and clumsily stumbled across the room, nearly tripping over the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I heard the thuds as he slightly fell against the door and felt around for the handle. As he threw our door open and then the girls' room door, I heard the screams grow louder.

"What's the matter, Chloe?" I heard him mumble.

Her screams and cries continued.

"Chloe! What's wrong?" He tried again, this time a little more coherent-sounding.

"My monkey's on the floor", she sobbed pathetically.

"What?" He mumbled.

"My monkey is on the floor", she enunciated each word deliberately through her sobs.

I heard him grunt as he stooped to pick it up and place it in her arms. Instantly the crying stopped and my poor husband stumbled back to our room and collapsed in the bed.

"What in the world? Is she screaming about her monkey?" I asked in a frustrated tone.

"I don't know. I don't know what she wants." And that was it. He was out. Poor guy.

Just to let you know how ridiculous this whole thing was - Chloe's bed is like 5 inches from the floor. All she had to do was reach her hand down and pick up the dang monkey! Instead she threw a screaming fit, which disturbed our sleep and caused me to have some pretty good, painful contractions for the next hour.

THANK YOU CHLOE!!!!!

Sherrif Joe's Got Nothing On Me!

Welcome to Tent City. I decided these ladies had committed one too many offenses and it was time for some prison camp to teach them a lesson.

Let's see what the little inmates are up to right now, shall we?

What's this? WHAT is THIS?! Are you two making moonshine in your bunk?

Yeah. Busted! AGAIN!

Biggest Dilemma Of All Time!

So, I'm gonna' need your help on this one. What do I throw away? The games...or the children?

What Does The Future Hold?

SO! It has come to my attention that the New Moon soundtrack will be released in early October and more and more bands who will be featured on it are being announced each week. I have not heard from Summit or Chop Shop and therefore am safely assuming I am not going to be included on this soundtrack. In all honestly, I'm actually not that disappointed. I really love the bands who are included on the soundtrack. Well, not all of them, but MOST of them. Also, I did feel extremely stressed about all of the expectations that would come with being featured on this soundtrack, i.e. photo shoots, interviews, music video, etc. and with Zander due to arrive within the next few weeks, I did NOT know how I was going to pull this off. I'm not saying I'm glad I didn't make it on - just surprisingly not as disappointed as I thought I would be.

Now a lot of questions are being raised by friends, fans, my husband and I and, I'm sure very soon - band mates. I have spent several weeks contemplating my next move with the thought in mind that there was a possibility we would not make it on. The competition was stiff and not only are we only really known by a couple of thousand people worldwide, but we have no representation at this time. SO...it's just one of those things. The music business is tough. You have to really want it bad. You have to be willing to fight for what you want with everything you've got and, most importantly, you have to decide how far you're willing to go and what you're willing to sacrifice.

Keeping that in mind and knowing that the future holds many possibilities and nothing is certain, here's what I plan to do:

1. Put the two songs I wrote for New Moon up on Itunes (maybe I can make back enough money to at least cover what I paid in recording fees).

2. Go ahead and lay down the song I wrote for Eclipse and put it out there on youtube and myspace, etc. and go ahead and submit the press kit (there's a new director for Eclipse, so you never know) and probably just put it up on Itunes right now, as well.

3. Focus on recording and finishing up the writing on a full length album, which will be entitled "The Beginning Of The End", which will feature songs about relationships, the state of the world, etc. At least one track will feature a rapper, which is something new I'm trying, but I'm really excited about the outcome of it. And I can't WAIT to hear the drums Bertrand will put with this (his background is progressive hard rock, so that with my sound should be interesting - in a good way).

4. Promote myself and my band as best as I can without sacrificing my family.

I love my kids and they along with my marriage are my priority, so as long as none of them are being jeopardized and I can find the balance, I will get out and play publicly and promote as best as I can. I have often discussed with my husband whether or not I would ever stop writing music and really, I don't think I could if I wanted to. I will always write music and I will always share it with whoever wants to hear it. Whether or not I'll achieve big name status in the music business is yet to be determined, but music is my passion and it's a passion I share with my husband and we will always pursue it in some way.

In the meantime, Bertrand is very seriously considering going back to school for an eventual masters in criminal justice and hoping for a career in crime scene investigation and I am feeling compelled to keep moving the direction I am - transcribing as much as I can while raising four beautiful children and, of course, writing in my spare time - music and books.

I am so grateful to family, friends, and people I don't know from all around the United States and even the world who have supported and encouraged me and continue to do so. That's a big part of what keeps me going - especially when I have my down times, which do happen. Just knowing that people out there appreciate what I've produced so far is very fulfilling and I hope to continue writing music and stories that entertain for years to come.