I attended the funeral of a high school friend this weekend.
After graduating at the top of his class at Yale, he suffered for the last 12 years from a debilitating, unidentifiable lung illness. His plans to go to medical school never materialized.
He watched his college friends and his younger sister accomplish their dreams of medical school, and never complained.
He was in a lot of pain, on a ventilator, and traveled to specialists all over the US, and never complained.
When his family and friends spoke at his service, they all mentioned how he took it all in stride to the very end, and never complained.
It was so moving and a tribute to those who are able to put a smile on their face no matter what.
Sadly, I am not that person. My blog post today is about how my wonderful husband has had to listen to me complain for the last 4 days, Labor Day weekend of all times.
I am down for the count. I have hit the wall.
I didn't listen to everyone telling me to slow down, stop working, and just enjoy the first few weeks with my newborn.
I've been working crazy long hours and taking Keaton with me. Trying to do it all. Pump, sell houses, do paperwork, change diapers, do laundry, meet with clients. Because that's who I am.
Unfortunately nature has a way of telling us when we need to slow down. And in this case, nature slapped me in the face with a raging case of double mastitis.
Thursday night the pain began. Fortunately I had a two week follow up with my midwife on Friday. She took one look at me and prescribed antibiotics, rest, and double the pumping. Oh joy.
Friday night we had company (how was I supposed to know I would be sick). Sadly we had to ask them to leave after dinner because I went downhill so quickly. Fever, oh so cold, then raging hot with the sweats. Body aches, nausea, headache. And I complained the whole time.
Saturday I felt a little better but by the evening went downhill again.
Sunday, again the day wasn't too bad but by evening was a total and complete wreck. For those that know me, crying isn't really my thing but due to the extreme pain and fever and hormonal mess, I was a sobbing, complaining nightmare.
And now today, I didn't even have a "good" few hours. The whole day has been just plain awful. My boobs feel like someone used them for punching bags. My nipples are burning and itching like fireants made their home in them. And the cold to hot temperature extremes are just about to do me in. Let me tell you how fun pumping is now!
Called the clinic today and they prescribed a new antibiotic because clearly the first one is not working. And they want me to come in tomorrow for another follow-up.
This is it. This is the straw that is breaking the camel's back for me and my hate-hate relationship with pumping. I'm done. I'm SO done.
Only done pumping doesn't mean you get to pack it up and forget about it. You have to slowly wean yourself off the torturus machine. So while the end is in sight, I'm not really sure what that looks like.
And I feel so badly for all my complaining. Especially after the funeral this weekend.