Random bits (aka why my life and therefore story updating have been crazy as of late)
So I've been getting a lot of reviews asking for quicker updates on my stories, and I recently was asked if I had abandoned 'This Isn't Happening', and I'm going to set the record straight.
No, I haven't abandoned my story. I love that story, but being as it was about pregnancy/childbirth/baby's first few months, and seeing as that's what I've been living since last January (though I didn't find out until March/April). And it wasn't a very easy pregnancy, delivery, or first few months, but it kind of ties into why I've been a horrible updater. As background, I'll tell you my first pregnancy was difficult, as well. I had preeclampsia, was hospitalized twice for blood pressure issues, and tried to push out a 10 pound baby, which ended after 13 hours of hard labor in a c-section (if I had known she was a 10 pound baby I would have just let them do the c-sect to begin with, which I think is what my doctor wanted to do anyways). So I didn't expect an easy one with this baby, either. I didn't find out I was pregnant until my second trimester, I had moved and didn't have access to my old doctor, and the only one I could go to was this awful clinic because, lo and behold, my hubby had gotten bumped from full time to part time, and thus we lost our health insurance and I had to rely on state aid. Luckily my blood pressure didn't seem to want to fight this time, but during a routine ultrasound early in my third trimester they found out that I had not enough amniotic fluid. I was placed under the care of a more experienced doctor, and had to get ultrasounds twice a week, always with the threat of a hospital stay looming over my head should things not go right with one. Which eventually happened, and the next day (after going into labor from the stress), I had my second daughter via c-section. You know how people always tell you that a mother knows when something is wrong? Well, I knew. There were no cries, the babbling and happy nurses suddenly went silent, and I was allowed to see her for about two seconds before she and my husband were rushed from the room. I got to see her for about 30 more seconds a few hours later before they put her on a ventilator. I don't care what religion you are, you're praying to every deity you can think of and then some when your baby is in the NICU on a vent. I was up and walking so quickly the nurses couldn't believe it, because I couldn't bear to wait for someone to push me down there to see her, being in one of the farthest rooms from the NICU be damned. Instead of happily getting to show my 3 year old daughter her new baby sister, I was regulated to pointing out her bed through a window. I didn't even get to hold my daughter for nearly three days. And I was lucky. Despite her lungs not working properly and needing bili-lights to help her liver, my little girl was a fighter, and ready to go home a week later, though still needing blood tests to make sure her bilirubin went down. And so the day after I brought her home, I took her back to get her tested, and was told to take her right back to the ER so she could be re-admitted. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, and I was pretty sure I was going to wind back up in the hospital myself from the stress when I was told that someone had been over-cautious, and I could take her home. Things were starting to look up, but we had been told it would be best to try to keep her out of daycare for the first year or so, which meant returning to the job I loved might not have happened.
It was about here that my grandpa's health took a downturn. My grandma had fallen when I was pregnant with my first daughter, and is now a quadriplegic, and my grandpa and brother had been taking care of her. With my grandpa's health now an issue, I was 'hired' to do his job for him, and therefore I could work with my baby there and not have to worry about daycare. Problem solved, right?
It was about here that my grandfather on the other side of my family passed. There had been some bad feelings between us in his last couple years, something I should have seen was the result of his failing physical and mental health, but which I wouldn't because some of the things he had said had hurt me so badly. I'm still not sure on where I am when it comes to forgiving him. I think I have, but some times I can still feel the hurt.
So a couple of months passed, and my grandpa (the first one) is in rapidly declining health. He's often hospitalized, and when he's not I see him almost every say, but he's not the same man I've known my whole life. Even then, however, he had this bond with my older daughter that is the type of thing you see in movies, not in real life. He always seemed alert around her, always ready to play one of the ridiculous games she made up on the spot that no one could possibly win but her, it was like having my grandpa back, and my daughter adored him.
Come January of this year, and things happen that make me feel like I'm ten years older than I am. Grandpa is still in and out of the hospital, it seems every other week or so. And my mom got injured, a broken foot, which, thanks to a childhood illness and disability, needed surgery. As we wait for that to happen my dad came home from work one day unable to catch his breath. I rushed him to the ER, and got the news the next day he had blood clots in both lungs and both legs. My dad has had a lot of health issues (to the point where a doctor has threatened to write a book about him), so this new condition means that he would be in the hospital for a couple weeks as meds are tweaked and his body's reactions are monitored. I wish I were joking here, but during his stay my mom had her surgery, in the same hospital, and at one point I was walking back and forth across the floor of the hospital from her room to his. That garners a lot of sympathy from the nurses, especially since they know I have two kids, including a four month old baby. Soon after everyone is home, and things seem to be going well, at least with my parents, until my mom injures her arm. Twice. And grandpa was back in the hospital on and off.
Mom got better, and we started thinking happy thoughts- including my mom planning a trip for my older daughter and my sister to go to Disney World together right after my daughter's 4th birthday. For a while I think my blood pressure might finally be able to recover.
Then grandpa gets sick again, and this time it looks like it's not going to get much better. I see him nearly every day, and I would never wish the fate of watching someone they love waste away like that on my worst enemy. They sent him home for hospice in April, and not long after that he passed. I tried to be as strong as I could for my daughter, who I knew would be hurting as soon as she realized that his death was permanent, but I fell apart. And ever since then I've been trying to pick up the pieces, but it seems like as soon as I'm almost over it something new will open the wound. I have rarely felt as helpless as I did the day my daughter started bawling and begging us to bring him back.
So May was a bit difficult for me, with some high and lows. Slowly I'm getting back to normal, but as they say time stands still for no one, and things have happened since then. My older daughter finished her first year of preschool, and without the structure of that and a few other classes she took, I quickly became her entertainment. She's enrolled in a few summer classes, but nothing compared to her preschool and none of them run the whole summer. My baby is growing like a weed, and seemingly picks up a new skill every day. We're close to crawling, she's standing if she can hold onto something, and she is starting to use words. She adores her sister, but still doesn't like it if Mommy isn't paying 100% attention to her. On top of all this my husband, who had finished school last December, has finally gotten a new job, which is exciting for him, but a bit scary for me, as he'll be gone more with this job just as I'm trying to figure out how to entertain both kids without giving one sun poisoning or letting the other destroy the house. All the time I would normally have spent writing has been taken up by trying to deal with everything going on, but I do write on occasion to escape things.
And so I don't think I can write another chapter of This Isn't Happening until I can think of a young child and not have every horrid thought I had while sitting in the NICU with a sick baby surrounded by sick babies brings up. It was not a good time, and I'll never get some of those things out of my head. Plus, dealing with a baby sort of kills the urge to write about the experience, no matter how good the story is.
I'm going to finish A Twist of Fate, hopefully by this time next week. I loved it, it was my happy story, but it's where it needs to end.
I just posted a new chapter of The Hunter and the Hunted. I may be focusing on this one quite a bit in the near future, as it's at a nice, angsty point, and so am I.
I also have two WIPs that I'm not posting. The sequel to Impossible, entitled Improbable, is about 50% done. I have the main chapters written, I just have to fill in the spaces between them as to not have the most horribly choppy story in existence.
The second is a Snape/Hermione fic, which I have written several chapters of, but that's all the info you get. I actually have two, but since I can't write two SS/HGs at the same time and not wind up messing up details from the two, I'm focusing on one and will get back to the other.
I'm doing my best, and I'm really trying, but it's going to take time. Thanks to everyone who has been patient through this, and soon I hope to be back to my quick-updating self.
No, I haven't abandoned my story. I love that story, but being as it was about pregnancy/childbirth/baby's first few months, and seeing as that's what I've been living since last January (though I didn't find out until March/April). And it wasn't a very easy pregnancy, delivery, or first few months, but it kind of ties into why I've been a horrible updater. As background, I'll tell you my first pregnancy was difficult, as well. I had preeclampsia, was hospitalized twice for blood pressure issues, and tried to push out a 10 pound baby, which ended after 13 hours of hard labor in a c-section (if I had known she was a 10 pound baby I would have just let them do the c-sect to begin with, which I think is what my doctor wanted to do anyways). So I didn't expect an easy one with this baby, either. I didn't find out I was pregnant until my second trimester, I had moved and didn't have access to my old doctor, and the only one I could go to was this awful clinic because, lo and behold, my hubby had gotten bumped from full time to part time, and thus we lost our health insurance and I had to rely on state aid. Luckily my blood pressure didn't seem to want to fight this time, but during a routine ultrasound early in my third trimester they found out that I had not enough amniotic fluid. I was placed under the care of a more experienced doctor, and had to get ultrasounds twice a week, always with the threat of a hospital stay looming over my head should things not go right with one. Which eventually happened, and the next day (after going into labor from the stress), I had my second daughter via c-section. You know how people always tell you that a mother knows when something is wrong? Well, I knew. There were no cries, the babbling and happy nurses suddenly went silent, and I was allowed to see her for about two seconds before she and my husband were rushed from the room. I got to see her for about 30 more seconds a few hours later before they put her on a ventilator. I don't care what religion you are, you're praying to every deity you can think of and then some when your baby is in the NICU on a vent. I was up and walking so quickly the nurses couldn't believe it, because I couldn't bear to wait for someone to push me down there to see her, being in one of the farthest rooms from the NICU be damned. Instead of happily getting to show my 3 year old daughter her new baby sister, I was regulated to pointing out her bed through a window. I didn't even get to hold my daughter for nearly three days. And I was lucky. Despite her lungs not working properly and needing bili-lights to help her liver, my little girl was a fighter, and ready to go home a week later, though still needing blood tests to make sure her bilirubin went down. And so the day after I brought her home, I took her back to get her tested, and was told to take her right back to the ER so she could be re-admitted. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, and I was pretty sure I was going to wind back up in the hospital myself from the stress when I was told that someone had been over-cautious, and I could take her home. Things were starting to look up, but we had been told it would be best to try to keep her out of daycare for the first year or so, which meant returning to the job I loved might not have happened.
It was about here that my grandpa's health took a downturn. My grandma had fallen when I was pregnant with my first daughter, and is now a quadriplegic, and my grandpa and brother had been taking care of her. With my grandpa's health now an issue, I was 'hired' to do his job for him, and therefore I could work with my baby there and not have to worry about daycare. Problem solved, right?
It was about here that my grandfather on the other side of my family passed. There had been some bad feelings between us in his last couple years, something I should have seen was the result of his failing physical and mental health, but which I wouldn't because some of the things he had said had hurt me so badly. I'm still not sure on where I am when it comes to forgiving him. I think I have, but some times I can still feel the hurt.
So a couple of months passed, and my grandpa (the first one) is in rapidly declining health. He's often hospitalized, and when he's not I see him almost every say, but he's not the same man I've known my whole life. Even then, however, he had this bond with my older daughter that is the type of thing you see in movies, not in real life. He always seemed alert around her, always ready to play one of the ridiculous games she made up on the spot that no one could possibly win but her, it was like having my grandpa back, and my daughter adored him.
Come January of this year, and things happen that make me feel like I'm ten years older than I am. Grandpa is still in and out of the hospital, it seems every other week or so. And my mom got injured, a broken foot, which, thanks to a childhood illness and disability, needed surgery. As we wait for that to happen my dad came home from work one day unable to catch his breath. I rushed him to the ER, and got the news the next day he had blood clots in both lungs and both legs. My dad has had a lot of health issues (to the point where a doctor has threatened to write a book about him), so this new condition means that he would be in the hospital for a couple weeks as meds are tweaked and his body's reactions are monitored. I wish I were joking here, but during his stay my mom had her surgery, in the same hospital, and at one point I was walking back and forth across the floor of the hospital from her room to his. That garners a lot of sympathy from the nurses, especially since they know I have two kids, including a four month old baby. Soon after everyone is home, and things seem to be going well, at least with my parents, until my mom injures her arm. Twice. And grandpa was back in the hospital on and off.
Mom got better, and we started thinking happy thoughts- including my mom planning a trip for my older daughter and my sister to go to Disney World together right after my daughter's 4th birthday. For a while I think my blood pressure might finally be able to recover.
Then grandpa gets sick again, and this time it looks like it's not going to get much better. I see him nearly every day, and I would never wish the fate of watching someone they love waste away like that on my worst enemy. They sent him home for hospice in April, and not long after that he passed. I tried to be as strong as I could for my daughter, who I knew would be hurting as soon as she realized that his death was permanent, but I fell apart. And ever since then I've been trying to pick up the pieces, but it seems like as soon as I'm almost over it something new will open the wound. I have rarely felt as helpless as I did the day my daughter started bawling and begging us to bring him back.
So May was a bit difficult for me, with some high and lows. Slowly I'm getting back to normal, but as they say time stands still for no one, and things have happened since then. My older daughter finished her first year of preschool, and without the structure of that and a few other classes she took, I quickly became her entertainment. She's enrolled in a few summer classes, but nothing compared to her preschool and none of them run the whole summer. My baby is growing like a weed, and seemingly picks up a new skill every day. We're close to crawling, she's standing if she can hold onto something, and she is starting to use words. She adores her sister, but still doesn't like it if Mommy isn't paying 100% attention to her. On top of all this my husband, who had finished school last December, has finally gotten a new job, which is exciting for him, but a bit scary for me, as he'll be gone more with this job just as I'm trying to figure out how to entertain both kids without giving one sun poisoning or letting the other destroy the house. All the time I would normally have spent writing has been taken up by trying to deal with everything going on, but I do write on occasion to escape things.
And so I don't think I can write another chapter of This Isn't Happening until I can think of a young child and not have every horrid thought I had while sitting in the NICU with a sick baby surrounded by sick babies brings up. It was not a good time, and I'll never get some of those things out of my head. Plus, dealing with a baby sort of kills the urge to write about the experience, no matter how good the story is.
I'm going to finish A Twist of Fate, hopefully by this time next week. I loved it, it was my happy story, but it's where it needs to end.
I just posted a new chapter of The Hunter and the Hunted. I may be focusing on this one quite a bit in the near future, as it's at a nice, angsty point, and so am I.
I also have two WIPs that I'm not posting. The sequel to Impossible, entitled Improbable, is about 50% done. I have the main chapters written, I just have to fill in the spaces between them as to not have the most horribly choppy story in existence.
The second is a Snape/Hermione fic, which I have written several chapters of, but that's all the info you get. I actually have two, but since I can't write two SS/HGs at the same time and not wind up messing up details from the two, I'm focusing on one and will get back to the other.
I'm doing my best, and I'm really trying, but it's going to take time. Thanks to everyone who has been patient through this, and soon I hope to be back to my quick-updating self.