April 19, 2008: Day 0

Happy Birthday.

Born Saturday, April 19, 2008 at 1:29pm ET

7 pounds 12.4 ounces, 20 inches

April 19, 2008: Day 279

This is it.

My mother wouldn't let me eat around the computer when I was a kid. What am I doing right now? Eating some sort of shrimp pasta dish my wife brought home from a baby shower. The to-go box is on the desk, with the sliding keyboard tray between my food and me. I nearly dropped piece on the keyboard, and it made me remember why my mom said that. When this baby grows into a kid, we won't let her eat around the computer, either. That means I won't be able to eat around the computer anymore. A baby changes everything.

After that meltdown over not being able to paint the door trim, the sun came out and evaporated the rain, and it finally got painted. Today I powerwashed the floor of our deck to remove the old paint so I could repaint it hopefully Monday. Just the floor, because that's in the worst shape, and I can paint it in about an hour with a roller brush mounted on a broom handle.

That same weatherman who predicted a 0% chance of rain says Sunday and Monday will be sunny, and Monday will be warm enought to paint. Oops, I did it again, getting myself into a precarious painting situation. We want to sign the contract with our selling agent and put the house on the market Monday, so I really set myself up this time.

I checked the forecast, and our beloved meteorologist Bill Meck predicts a 20% chance of snow on Sunday, but still 0% chance of precipitation on Monday. Meanwhile, there's an 80-90% chance of rain tomorrow and Saturday. Hmm. I'll be interested to know how the deck timbers are going to dry out before I paint them on Monday, because I am painting them Monday afternoon. I was rumaging through the garage and found a large roll of plastic dropcloth the previous owner left behind. Can you believe that? After living here nearly four years, we still find things the last guy left. Anyway, I could spread the plastic sheet over the deck to keep out the rain. The plastic would trap heat, and water vapor would dissipate below the deck. We'll see. And after all this time, we kept a can of the deck paint so we'd know the color should we ever have a need to repaint.

I'm taking a nuclear pharmacy rotation this month. Since the radio-labeled scans start early in the morning, and the customers can be up to a couple hours away, the pharmacy starts preparing doses at 10pm the day before and goes all night until 2-ish in the afternoon. All of this to say that this week, I've been going in at 5am to catch the tail end of the second batch of doses being prepared. It's nearly 11pm. Therefore, I'm sleepy, really sleepy. So sleepy that I dozed off for a few minutes while sitting in the computer chair. I'm going to bed.

I wish I were waiting for paint to dry, but instead, I'm waiting for rain to dry. We're trying to put our home on the market ahead of the upcoming birth and move to northern Kentucky, where I've accepted a job. I replaced some exterior door trim nearly two months ago, and I've been waiting to paint the darned thing. We also replaced a fencepost on our wooden privacy fence, which needs to be painted with wood stain. These projects require a dry day with temperature above 50F for many hours. We were in Hawai'i for the first half of February. Now, don't get me wrong -- we missed out on a lot of typically crappy Kentucky winter weather, and I'm way grateful for the escape to a pleasant, tropical climate -- but there were several perfect painting days during our absence. And there haven't been any since our return... except today.

Well, it was supposed to be today. I watched the weather forecast all week. "We're setting up for a wonderful weekend," they said, and "the first cold front will be moving out to make way for clear weather this weekend before the next storm system comes in early next week." Every day as the weekend approached, the 8-day forecast displayed a Raisin Bran-esque sun and "0%" chance of precipitation for Sunday. I thought today was a sure thing.

As for those raindrops running down the door trim and the soaked fencepost I planned to paint today, I don't know how that happened, but there's no denying the heavy clouds and the water falling out of them. Check out the current doppler radar, courtesy of the television station who's been forecasting a perfect Sunday all week. I live below where the "L" meets the "E" in "LEX" on this map, near the county line. Notice how it's just a little bit of rain, just enough to wet everything down so I can't paint outside today before it seriously starts raining and snowing tomorrow? YES! That's the kind of luck I'm talking about!

I'm banging my head against the wall in frustration... figuratively, that is, because I've done enough touch-up work on the interior walls, trim, and ceiling of this house, because I've already screwed up enough things as a result of trying to fix something else, and then had to fix my screw ups. In other words, the only thing keeping me from literally banging my head into the wall is the awareness it'd probably do damage to the wall that I'd have to fix later on, and I've had enough irony with this house already.

Okay, so I admit it -- I'm easily frustrated over this house thing, and this unexpected crappy weather day is just the latest in a chain of small annoyances that have nickel-and-dimed my positive outlook savings account deep into the red, much as this house will do to our financial savings account if it sits on the market for months and months without selling, because we have to move, and if this house doesn't sell, we have to carry two mortgages. Much like Kentucky weather in February, my demeanor is seriously lacking in bright, sunny days to support cheery optimism.

Hawai'i was nice, however. Perfect weather, beaches, perfect weather, mountains, vacation, perfect weather, coral reef snorkeling, relaxing, perfect weather, coffee and good food, volcanoes and lava, perfect weather, humpback whales. I brought back a ukulele, a most fun and quirky little instrument to play. More on that in another post.

March 2, 2008: Day 221

The baby... she's gettin' big in there. Kicking all the time, her butt visibly protruding through mom's belly. She's positioned herself head down, which is a good sign against a breach birth, even if she is positioned somewhat laterally instead of head straight down. Our nurse-midwife showed me how to feel her head and body to guess at her position, and that's a cool, if not somewhat eerie, trick. The first baby shower is today. It was originally scheduled for last Sunday, but it was cancelled because of snow, but I don't want to get stuck on that weather thing again.

Maybe, with a hair dryer or heat gun, I could get that door trim dry enough to paint. I'm so ready for spring.

January 25, 2008: Day 184

It's been six months since you were conceived, and you're two weeks into the third trimester. You're due in 82 days. If you were born today, you could probably breathe on your own and at least respond to changes in body temperature, even if you would still have to be in an incubator since your little body couldn't generate enough heat. But the important thing is, if you are born today or any day after, the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor. The nurses and doctors will fight for you and do whatever it takes.

I realize that in my writing, I often comment on your survival odds, and upon reflection, I admit it might seem obsessive and even morbid to dwell on such things, but you know what? Damn right I dwell on these things! I'm practical, and I'm a realist. It doesn't change my love for you... quite the opposite, in fact, because it's how I've expressed my concern for your well-being. I never allowed this line of thinking to escalate into a frenzy of worry, but there was always enough concern to keep us (your mother and me) aware of and focused on your health. We never lost focus, we never considered your successful birth to be a foregone conclusion, which means we were never complacent or flippant about your pregnancy, we never took this for granted. We were always in your corner, pulling for you and cheering you on.

I believe that every once in a while, when we're in the privacy of our home and not around other people, it's worthwhile to go a day or two without a shower, because that next, much needed shower is a most rejuvenating experience. You can't appreciate how good it feels to be clean until you've known the misery of being grimy and dirty. In the same way, being aware of all that can go wrong in a pregnancy helps us appreciate how fortunate we are when things go right. Our family has been extremely fortunate thus far, enough so that whatever challenges may come our way, we can take them head-on with confidence. Not arrogance or complacency, but confidence. Of course, some couples try so hard to have a child, some spend a small fortune trying to adopt, that'll we'll never truly know how lucky we are.

We enrolled in a Bradley Method childbirthing class. This was your mother's planning, and it's been a valuable experience. We've learned exercises to strengthen your mother's body and prepare her and you for birth, simple ways to help birth go better for everyone involved, things I think the medical community should teach all expecting mothers in a country where one-third of babies are delivered by Caesarean-section and birthing interventions abound.

The Bradley Method has also taught us a new way to approach diet. For example, avoiding excessive weight gain is important, but it should never trump proper nutrition. The Bradley Method teaches what a balanced pregnancy diet is, and how a proper diet will maintain proper weight gain. Traditional obstetric practice addresses the issue in backwards fashion: stressing proper weight gain to expecting mothers, and placing less emphasis on diet. So, by telling a pregnant woman she's gaining too much weight, but not teaching her how to make informed diet choices, many medical professionals unwittingly motivate women to eat less and get inadequate nutrition.

I always thought it was normal and healthy for the breaking of the waters to signal the start of labor (in fact, many ob/gyns will puncture the amniotic sac to help labor progress). Breaking the waters early is not necessarily a good thing. The forewaters around the baby's head provide cushioning and protection during labor, and reduce the mother's discomfort as the baby's skull pushes against the pelvis and pubic bone. Consuming plenty of protein helps strengthen the amniotic sac, ideally keeping it intact for cushioning until moments before birth. So now, we hope for a birth where the water gushes out as the head begins to crown, and we will not allow a physician or midwife to break your amniotic sac simply to progress labor for convenience's sake.

Episiotomies are to be avoided. Even a few minor tears are preferable to the single incision of an episiotomy, because on the whole, vaginal tears heal with fewer complications than episiotomies. Call me crazy, but I believe that our good friend Evolution has responded to crowning by developing vaginas that can heal from tears, but hasn't had an opportunity to respond to the relatively new practice of episiotomy. But in the meantime, squatting and consuming plenty of unsaturated fat and protein helps make the perineum all stretchy-like.

I could go on, but you get the point: these childbirthing classes have given us a new perspective. And to think I was initially resistant to the $250 cost and 12-week commitment! I'm almost ashamed.

What else? We have your crib and dresser with hutch. That crib is quite nice, I must say. Solid, heavy construction, the kind that won't wobble when you grab on and push and pull. Unless we use it for a second child, you'll come to know it as your childhood bed, for we also bought the rails to convert it into a full-size bed. This, too, was your mother's doing. She takes the lead on most everything, while I sit around and pontificate about them in my weblog.

Well, I did take the lead on the electronics: a camcorder to record your milestones, and a camera to capture the moments that go by so quickly and only come once, the moments we want to treasure and not forget, the very moments you'll hope we never show a significant other before a date. Please understand we do it with the best intentions at heart, as a test. For whoever adores our daughter at her most precious or entertaining moments, only these people are worthy of her heart. Trust us on this one.

You're kicking quite a bit, your poor mother's bladder... and sometimes, when you flip, it's your poor mother's ribs we talk about. Not only have I felt you kick, I've seen lumps and bumps move around. A couple weeks ago, we first heard your heartbeat with our own ears through a stethoscope, not amplified through a doppler microphone. The other day, when I coughed next to your mother's belly, you kicked as if startled, so we know you're aware, if not consciously so. I've been shining a laser pointer and moving it over your mother's belly, trying to elicit a response... none yet, but we're certain the glow penetrates blood and tissue, because it's red and bright. Perhaps you think the red glow is nothing to be concerned about or worth moving for, at least not enough for us to feel. Of course, you can't even open your eyes for a few more days.

Until then, we'll leave the light on for you.

December 9, 2007: Day 138

The story so far:

Back in 1975, when your mother was still unborn in her mother's uterus, the egg cell that would become you was formed. Fast-forward through time to August 1996 when your mother and I met, to July 2004 when we married. In mid-May 2007, an unknown and unremarkable spermatogonium in my body became a committed stem cell, one of a million to do so that day, and began the process of producing numerous sperm cells. On July 25, 2007, your mother ovulated and released an egg cell; sometime during the next 24 hours, it was fertilized by a sperm cell descended from my unknown and unremarkable spermatogonium. Thus you were conceived, a lone zygote. Over the next few days, the zygote divided time and again to form a blastocyst, and implanted into your mother's uterus. Thus began your pregnancy, the result of a long series of highly improbable events leading to your creation.

A few days ago we found out you are a girl. I suspected as much, but knowing with certainty is a new perspective. I try to imagine what the start of your life will be like, your personality and who you will become, based solely on your gender. No doubt, you will surprise me at every turn. I am told raising girls is easier than boys for the first few years, then puberty comes, and the tables turn. I will always question the example your friends set, as well as my own actions. No boy you bring home will ever be good enough for you, and I will probably make them painfully aware of my opinion with my critical glare when you're looking the other way.

As for now, we can begin preparing to indoctrinate you in the gender roles ascribed by society. This starts with your name, which we've given only the briefest of consideration, but I imagine a name starting with a letter in the first half of the alphabet. Next is clothing. I pledge to keep the number of pink and/or poofy articles to a minimum, insomuch as I can influence the family and friends who may give you such gifts. The rest is up to you. Then the toys. I expect you will have dolls, appliances, and houses to simulate being a homemaker in your own family someday, and as long as you feel free to aspire to anything you desire, I will be happy to help bake cookies, choose outfits for dolls, and have tea parties with you. I'll even do the dishes.

November 3, 2007: Day 102

You are the lucky one. Birthwise, that is. Your mother has been coming home with a box of diapers every now and then. Stocking up, she says, to spread costs over time and soften the blow. Yesterday, I saw Winnie the Pooh bibs on the kitchen counter (yellow, of course) when I came home, and I suspect your grandmother may be responsible for those. My mother has taken her daughters-in-law to Gatlinburg for the weekend, and I think she brought those bibs with her. Your mother will return from her trip with clothes for you, I am sure.

Your younger sibling won't enjoy anything approaching the level of attention you've had during your pregnancy. We'll be too busy with you, taking care of you, reading to you, peeling grapes for you (seriously -- you could choke), to devote as much time and energy preparing for pregnancy number 2 as we did for number 1. Number 2 will have to peel their own grapes, or brave the skins alone. The infant clothes you wear will be the same clothes number 2 will wear, with the added fashion statement of the stains you left behind... and if you are both the same gender, number 2 will be wearing your stains for years.

I won't write as many weblogs to number 2. We won't take a weekly picture of your mother's belly. She'll forget to take her prenatal vitamin and omega-3 supplement more often. You'll learn to read sooner than number 2 because we'll read to and work with you more. These things are unfortunate realities for number 2, but a boon for you.

Starting when I was 6 or 7, until I was maybe as old as 10, I would ask my mother who her favorite child was. Her answers were appropriately non-committal: she loved us both equally, she said. I obsessed with the question for two reasons: one, I had a brother after four years as the spoiled only child; and two, his health problems earned him coddling and attention I never knew. I understand now that my mother's evasive answers were truthful. A parent does (or should) love all their children equally, but that doesn't prevent the firstborn from enjoying an unfair advantage because of the excitement and newness the parents experience the first time around, both before and after birth.

Someday, years from now, when you are a toddler, and your mother and I have a second child, you may feel forgotten when we bring home a new baby. You may act out, and, if you are old enough, you may experience a most unpleasant emotion, jealousy. If you experience these emotions, you will perceive your situation as unfair. I felt that way, too. Not until years later did I see things from a different perspective. In fact, it wasn't until I began writing this weblog that I realized what I actually lost after the birth of my brother wasn't fairness, at all. In reality, I had lost part of the unfair advantage of being the firstborn... just a part of it.

What I considered unfair was actually a leveling of the playing field, but the field can never be perfectly level. No matter how many babies we bring home after you, you will always be the first. Your mother and I will always devote that extra effort, that unfair advantage, to prepare you and us for your milestones. Walking. Talking. Learning the alphabet. Reading. Spelling. Writing. Making friends. Going to school. A second language. Memorizing multiplication tables. Algebra. The first relationship, first kiss, and it's painful end. Driving. You'll always be our first child to do anything, and that means we, your parents, will always spend that extra time sweating and fretting for you.

October 19, 2007: Day 87

We heard your heartbeat last week, 155 beats per minute.

Welcome to the second trimester. Since the last time I wrote, you've tripled in size, from just less than an inch back then to over 3 inches today. A couple weeks ago, you were growing 250,000 brain cells every minute. Like glitter in a snow globe, many of those neurons will flash into life only to flicker out and be replaced by others. No one knows why the brain develops that way. It seems wasteful, but there is always a reason. Prenatal development is the most amazing time of an animal's life. In the weeks ahead, you'll grow faster than you ever have, or ever will.

I have no way of knowing if you are a boy or a girl, but before next month when we'll find out, I want to say it for the record: I think you're a girl, based solely on my "Spidey Sense." We'll find out soon enough.

Something that's been troubling me is the matter of religion and how you will or won't be indoctrinated into it. Your mother and I have differing opinions on the subject, and mine is undecided. I was raised evangelical Baptist, once considered myself a student of Buddhism, and today I am agnostic-about-as-close-as-it-comes-to-atheist.

Part of me hopes you'll follow in my footsteps, and part of me worries for you and hopes you don't, because it isn't easy believing this way. There are those who fear and despise people who believe as I do. I know -- I used to be one of them. I don't want that for you, for you to have to endure that. After a recent school-shooting in South Carolina, TV crews interviewed the school's students, and every one of the shooter's classmates said he didn't believe in God, as if to imply, if only he believed in God, this horrible tragedy would not have happened. The popular opinion seems to be, that of those who believe in God, some are good people and some are bad people, but of those who don't believe in God, all are bad people.

What is it that I want for you? What will make me happy for you and proud of you? I've been pondering those questions as I've been thinking about how to write this.

Roughly 7 in 8 people practice the same religion as their parents. If you believe as I believe simply because I taught you to believe what I believe, I could never be happy knowing that. Conversely, I could never be satisfied with you growing up in a church and being taught to believe what the other members of that church believe. It doesn't matter if the belief system is mine, your mother's, or a church's -- either way, it's indoctrination into a belief system not your own. I will be happy if you are never afraid to think independently and critically, to always and relentlessly question why, and decide what you believe based solely on your own reasoning.

September 11, 2007: Day 49

Today we saw you for the first time. I have many private anxieties about you and your well-being, and today, two of them have been laid to rest: first, there's only one of you in there; and second, you are securely implanted in your mother's uterus, not a fallopian tube. Your mother got to see you move, but I wasn't there, and only got to see the pictures later on. You were 2.24 cm long, but since you grow about 0.15 cm each day, you're already larger than that by now, only 10 hours after the ultrasound.

You've been moving around for about two weeks. Your first muscle cells form around your spine and actually ooze through your body to their final destinations. You still have no awareness, no sight, no hearing or other senses, no thought. But your heart beats, your legs kick, your arms thrash, your head turns, and your kidneys make pee. You're well on your way to your first dirty diaper.

August 6, 2007: Day 13

Your mother and I were surprised to discover today that you exist. We know you are there, but we don't know much else about you. We don't know if you're going to be a boy or a girl, the color of your eyes or hair, or what your favorite flavor of ice cream will be. We only know that you are.

Know that you were wanted. We planned to make you happen. Your mother had it down to a science. For the past three months, the first thing I heard in the morning was the beeping of the thermometer as she took her temperature, waiting for the spike that signaled ovulation, learning the pattern of her body, learning when was the best time to make you. There were ovulation test strips, ovulation predictors on the Internet, and other things about which I won't go into detail. After all your mother's planning and watching patterns, the first month we tried, we made you. We took a picture of the pregnancy test. It said, "Pregnant." That is the sum total of what we know about you.

We know when you were conceived, to the day: July 25. When you were conceived, your parents loved you and loved each other. I was in love with your mother that day as much as I ever have been. You were created about 12 days ago, and today you are a blastocyst, a tiny ball of cells. In another day or two, your nervous system will begin to form and you will become an embryo, but right now, you have no fingers or toes, no brain, no heart, no awareness. This will all soon change.

I must be honest with you. Life is a constant struggle, but once the ball gets rolling, things take care of themselves, and it gets easier. Why, in the first 12 days, you've overcome nearly impossible odds, and there's a 3 in 4 chance you'll make it until the next month, and a 2 in 3 chance you will be born in the spring of 2008. Those aren't the kind of odds you want to play Russian Roulette with, but just a week ago, the odds were very much against you. I am not a religious or spiritual man, but I do believe in the miracle of life. The miracle is that, despite unimaginable odds, the egg and the sperm that became you managed to meet and merge in the first place. The fact that you even exist makes you incredibly lucky and special. You could easily have been someone else, but it had to be you. That is the miracle of life, your life.

I am a pragmatist. No romantic would fret over their unborn child's odds of survival. Despite my best intentions, you will be exposed to this part of my personality from an early age, I'm sure. All apologies if it makes me seem neurotic, distant, or cold, and I will never forgive myself if it makes you any of those things. In any situation you find yourself, I want you to have a realistic perspective and expectation. There's a fine line between realism and cynicism, however, and constant anxiety and risk aversion are traps I hope you will avoid. When you find yourself up against a challenge, instead of asking "why me?", I hope you ask "why not?" Instead of saying "I can't possibly," I hope you say "I possibly can." In other words, I hope you aren't hindered by the negative attitudes I sometimes have.

Know that your mother and I have always loved you, from the time when you were no more than a tiny ball of cells.

August 8, 2007: Day 15

I told the first person about you today, someone you'll probably never meet or know: my pharmacy preceptor at Samaritan Hospital. His name was Lanny. We were eating lunch in the break room, and I mentioned we were ready to have kids. He asked if your mother was pregnant, and I told him yes, we had just found out two days ago, and asked him to keep it in confidence until we were ready to tell our families. And he did.

August 17, 2007: Day 24

Your heart began beating a few days ago, and you are a little bigger than an apple seed. Your mother's cramps have ceased, and she's taking an omega-3 fatty acid supplement to help your brain and nervous system develop.

When I was born, breast milk and formula didn't go well for me. I was colicky and screamed for six weeks. Distraught, at wit's end, and against doctor's advice, my mother fed me the only thing that didn't make me scream: powdered milk. It's meager on fat, and infants need plenty of fats and omega-3 fatty acids to gain weight and develop a healthy brain and nervous system. I guess I turned out okay, but I'm hoping for better for you.

August 23, 2007: Day 30

Today we met with a nurse-midwife. Obstetricians deliver most babies in the United States, but your mother and I have concerns with the status quo. I find it ironic that your mother, an optometrist, and I, a pharmacy student, as part of the medical establishment, would have such strong concerns with allowing said establishment to bring you into the world. For one, most obstetricians work in a group practice, so when it comes time for the birth, the mother's obstetrician may or may not perform the actual delivery, depending on availability. Second, we believe U.S. healthcare's approach to birth and delivery is overly aggressive, quick to employ interventional techniques such as induced labor, caesarian and vacuum-assisted delivery, and forceps to hasten delivery more in the interests of the healthcare system than in the interests of mother and baby.

Our hopes for a nurse-midwife would be someone who could deliver you in a hospital in lieu of an obstetrician. Sadly, no midwife with hospital privileges is to be found in Lexington. Many cities don't even have professional midwives, so it seems we're fortunate simply to have a nurse-midwife nearby.

The practical upshot of all this is that we're actually considering a home delivery. Only two weeks ago, I would have thought it crazy, but now... if you were not a high risk pregnancy... and a maternity hospital only 15 minutes from home in case we needed it... home births being the only method of delivery for thousands of years... I think I'd go for it. But the final decision is your mother's -- she's the one who would have to do this without any pain meds.

In country where 98% of births occur in hospitals, people may think we're taking a huge risk, but the World Health Organization advocates home births for low-risk pregnancies. In the United States, the infant mortality rate is 7 per 1000. In the Netherlands, it's 5 per 1000 in a country where 33% of births occur in the home and most low-risk pregnancies are delivered in midwifery units, not hospitals. On the other hand, in Sweden, with an infant mortality rate of 3 per 1000, over 99% of births are in hospitals. So at the end of the day, I wonder... in a developed country with access to advanced medical care when needed, does home birth significantly impact infant mortality? And if not, then the logical conclusion is that it's safe for low-risk pregnancies, and should be done without reservation if the parents so desire.

So... only time can tell if you will be born at home, but if you were, it was done because of what happened today.

August 25, 2007: Day 32

This is the weekend we're announcing you to our families. Today we told my mother, grandmother, and brother. With the element of surprise, we met my mother and grandmother at grandmother's house, chatted for a while, and gave my mother a baby picture book in a gift bag. The first picture is your positive pregnancy test.

We talked to your grandmother about a birth defect both my brother and I had, anal stenosis. It causes painful bloating and constipation, and requires gradual instrumental dilation of the anus, also painful (at least it was for me, I am told), but the long-term prognosis is good. Sometimes anal stenosis (the mildest form of imperforate anus) is associated with other birth defects in what is known as VACTERL association. I mention this only because my brother also has cardiac congential deformities consistent with VACTERL association. Actually, VACTERL usually requires 3 of the defects, and 2 defects qualifies as "VACTERL-like."

The important thing to know is that VACTERL association does not appear to have a genetic origin, but there is some evidence VACTERL-like does, because cases tend to cluster in families. To add to the rub, though, VACTERL-like is more common in girls, and neither your uncle nor I are.

I mention all this now not only because we talked about it today, but because the defects associated with VACTERL arise from events occuring between weeks 7 and 10 of pregnancy when the embryo reshapes itself from a mass of cells into the characteristic embryo body, a crucial period of time you are about to enter.

I'll be thinking of you often during the next few weeks, hoping all is well.

August 26, 2007: Day 33

Today we told your mother's family about you. Your grandmother had already become suspicious of us. Your mother told your cousin Emma to pull the gift bag out of my backpack and take it to your grandmother. We gave both of your grandmothers the same baby picture album with the picture of the positive pregnancy test. Your aunt April is also pregnant, due about a week before you. We had meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls that failed to rise in the oven, and angelfood cake with blackberries and strawberries for dessert. Between lunch and dessert, we drove down to the creek where your grandfather is building a cabin on stilts in the woods to stay in while he builds a regular-size house not far away in a clearing. Perhaps someday you will spend the night on a camping trip with your cousins in that cabin high among the trees. While you were taking shape in your mother's belly, so was that cabin. On this day, it was still a frame, with only three exterior walls and no roof. After dessert, I took a nap at your grandparent's. It was sunny and hot outside, but shady and almost comfortable in the woods; 2007 was the hottest and driest year in a long time.

I don't know why I tell you all these small details... I think it's so you or me or both of us will read this one day and recreate the event in our minds, for you to see it through your imagination, and for me to hold on to the memory for as long as possible.

August 27, 2007: Day 34

Today I told my father about you. Your mother and I were going to visit him at home when we told my mother and grandmother, but he was at the state fair judging the karaoke contest. Don't ask. Suffice it to say, I had to tell him over the phone. I was driving home from Samaritan Hospital, where I was doing my pharmacy rotation that month. After some chit-chat, I told him exactly as I was driving home on Clay's Mill Road, going through the intersection at Keithshire. I remember looking at the green traffic light passing overhead as I told him, "Rachel's pregnant."

August 30, 2007: Day 37

Today I posted all I've written so far on my weblog.

I didn't know Phil Rizzuto as anyone other than the spokesman for "The Money Store," a bank specializing in second home mortgages. I'll never forget his Brooklyn accented voice saying, "I'm Phil Rizzuto for The Money Store."

The Money Store commercial

HBO makes for an expensive cable bill, but you get what you pay for. The movies are good, but I'm mostly speaking to the series. I'm giving them props for three recent series, one which may last for a while, another which may not (which is a shame, because I think it's fresh and witty), and one which already has been canceled.

On that note, I don't know how HBO researches their ratings. Do they use Nielsen, which is more geared to commercial networks? Do they have focus groups? Do they gather stats from OnDemand viewing?

The first is Big Love, a drama about a polygamist Mormon family trying to blend into mainstream society. I'd rank it up there with Six Feet Under, but unlike that popular series, I haven't heard much buzz about it. Of course, my circles number two: poor college students who can't afford HBO, and 40-something pharmacists who don't seem the HBO type. Then there's where I live... many people here may get hung up about a show portraying a polygamist family, even though it doesn't promote the lifestyle. But Desperate Housewives, which enjoys its highest viewership in my part of the country, is fine. [I privately steam in my own frustration]
Update: HBO will produce season 3 of Big Love

The second is Flight of the Conchords, a comedy about a two-man folk band and comedy troupe from New Zealand come to New York City. In addition to themselves, their quest for fame is hindered by a distractable manager unable to secure real gigs who is also a cultural attache in the New Zealand Consulate office, a single stalker fan, a continual struggle to pay the rent, and serious co-dependency issues preventing them from separating long enough to pursue normal dating. The standard formula is two songs performed per 30-minute episode. The songs are gems. Enjoying the show may require a warped sense of humor possessed by few. I hope the show will find such warped individuals and form a cultish fanship; however, they're almost unheard of in the U.S., and the show may never catch on. A pity, that.
Update: HBO will produce season 2 of Flight of the Conchords thanks to the vocal cult following it has generated.

The last show is Rome, which wrapped up its second season earlier this year with a series finale. Apparently, it had a movie-size production budget and was designed for two seasons only. Nevertheless, I really liked the show, and was sad to see it end.

Dudes, I simply must tell you about this wonderful thing I discovered: nasal douching. Yes, that's right, nasal douching. In yoga circles, it also goes by the name "jala neti," which Wikipedia defines as an "ancient yoga cleansing technique," traditionally performed with a neti pot. A neti pot looks like a small teapot with a long spout. They're usually made of ceramic or metal, and choice of material can be controversial among yoga purists; from a purely practical standpoint, I'd chose metal because it's easier to clean. The spout is flared at the tip, which fits against the nostil and forms a seal. With the head bent over a sink and turned slightly to the side, the neti pot solution is poured into one nostril and allowed to flow out the other by gravity. It sounds disturbing. It can be disturbing to watch. But it works.

I've noticed from beach vacations that swimming in the ocean and getting some sea water in my nose improves my sinusitis and allergies. This led me to try saline nasal sprays like Ocean, but the small bottles are intended for spraying a little every few hours to moisten nasal passages; they don't help allergies much.

I first heard about neti pots on an episode of Six Feet Under, and patients come into the pharmacy from time to time asking if we sell neti pots. Whilst on rotation at a Walgreen's pharmacy, I learned about the Neilmed nasal irrigation system, which works like a neti pot, but instead of the water flowing by gravity, the Neilmed product has a plastic squeeze bottle to put some pressure behind the water. Since I have severe allergies, chronic sinusitis, and dry nasal passages, I bought one a few weeks ago. Neilmed package designs are very busy and visually distracting. They look like something you'd see on a late night infomercial. If I were shopping for something else and saw these products in the cold and allergy section, I'd roll my eyes and walk on.

Here's a YouTube video on how it's done; the audio is low, so expect to boost the volume to hear anything: Neilmed sinus rinse video.

The Neilmed manual says to only use Neilmed's premixed packets to prevent burning and discomfort, because they're pH balanced; however, I'm too cheap to pay $10-$12 for 50 uses (I use hypertonic solution, which requires 2 packets). Sodium chloride is slightly acidic, and human extracellular fluids like blood and plasma are slightly basic, so a sodium chloride mixture will sting the nasal passages. Been there, done that -- it really stings.

Making your own nasal rinse solution is inexpensive and easy, but the trick is having a recipe. The Neilmed packets list sodium chloride and sodium bicarbonate as ingredients, but I didn't know how much of each. The sodium chloride is easy enough to guess, but how much baking soda? That's what Google is for. In about 3 minutes, I was comparing jala neti solution recipes online. The recipe I use is a hypertonic neti pot solution:

• 8 ounces (240 ml) lukewarm water (distilled or tap water, boiled)
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon baking soda (sodium bicarbonate)

Alternatively, you can use 1/2 teaspoon sea salt by itself. The pH of ocean water is already basic at about 8.2 - 8.4, so the baking soda isn't necessary.

It's that easy. If an isotonic solution is preferred, use 1/4 teaspoon each. I haven't tried it, but 3/4 - 1 teaspoon of each should make a solution comparable to ocean water. Baking soda buffers the solution to a basic pH to prevent stinging. Iodized and table salt should not be used. The iodizing agent in iodized salt, potassium iodide, is irritating. Table salt contains an anti-caking agent, which also is irritating. The best salt to use is one without any anti-caking agent, but that kind of salt is hard to find, and if you do, it's probably rock salt with crystals too large to measure in a spoon -- that's why most salt has an anti-caking agent. Kosher salt has an anti-caking agent, but it's different from the anti-caking agent in table salt, and seems to be less irritating.

The first time I used the nasal rinse, I stood with my head bent over the sink for at least 5 minutes, laughing nervously, trying to work up the courage to do it. The directions casually tell you to squeeze the solution into one nostril and relax so it can flow out the other nostril. I didn't know such things were possible, and the thought of it freaked me out a little. It did feel weird the first couple times, and even stung a bit, but you quickly adapt. The important thing is that it really does work, and when you get past the aversion to squirting water up your nose, it's a great way to help relieve sinusitis.

Some final thoughts about nasal rinsing:

• Cleanliness. This is the most time-consuming aspect, but cleanliness of neti pots or the Neilmed squeeze bottle is paramount -- after going to all the trouble, the last thing you want to do is promote a sinus infection by spraying contaminated water deep into your sinuses. Always boil the water first and allow it to cool; 2 or 2.5 minutes in the microwave is all it takes.
• Disadvantage of Neilmed vs neti pots: the inside of the bottle is difficult to dry completely between uses. The instructions recommend cleaning with a wire brush, but I soak the inside with a dilute bleach solution a couple of times a week and rinse well with hot water and dish detergent after every use.
• Disadvantage of Neilmed vs neti pots: the flexible plastic squeeze bottle isn't as durable as a neti pot. I haven't had mine long enough to know how often it should be replaced, but the instructions recommend every few months -- I expect it to last longer with proper care. At any rate, a bottle costs less than a neti pot.
• Advantage of Neilmed vs neti pots: squeezing the bottle pressurizes the water. This was the primary selling for me. Since one of my nostrils is at least partially clogged most of the time due to allergies, water probably wouldn't flow well from a neti pot. No need to blast it -- if it takes more than a gentle squeeze, you're either doing it incorrectly or your sinuses are too clogged and nasal rinsing isn't for you.

Since going back to pharmacy school after a 7 year break from science courses, it's been painfully apparent that my mental capacity has decreased. Everything is mostly intact, but studying for exams pushes the mind to its limits, and when those limits receded even a bit, it's noticeable.

This perceived change in mental capacity is either real, imagined, or a bit of both.

The case for real loss: Before the time when telephones could store more telephone numbers than I knew people... before the time when PDAs could remind me of every appointment and to-do item from a year ago to a year ahead, old grocery shopping lists, and email addresses of people I assume I met online years ago but can't be sure because we only exchanged a few emails... before the ago of personal electronics, I could recall at least 40 telephone numbers from memory, about 20 addresses, and remember everywhere I needed to go that day without having to repeatedly glance at an appointment calendar.

Oh, and the spell-checkers. Don't get me wrong -- I love the spell-checker in Word and Outlook, but technology giveth and technology taketh away: When writing with old-school pen-and-paper or using software without a spell-checker like my weblog, I find my self copying and pasting a word into Word so I can run a quick "F7" spell-check. Auto-correct is another great innovation within the past few years. Thanks to auto-correct, I've let my typing dexterity and vowel order ("i" before "e" except after "c") get sloppy because, hey, auto-correct will fix it.

The case for imagined loss: Pharmacy school was much more difficult than undergrad, so what I perceive as a mental loss may be the difficulty differential. Undergrad was also a long time ago -- 10 years since graduation -- and time has no doubt softened the exam stress and frustration with my limitations that I felt way back when.

And finally, there's the information flood, which makes us all highly distractable and shortens our attention spans. Our propensity to quickly lose interest in one current event in favor of the next newsflash is what saves politicians like the President from being impeached. As for my own mental function, not being able to focus on a task for more than 3 minutes takes a toll on learning. What's worse, I know this, but I allow myself to be distracted; it's my own dumb fault. Here in a few minutes, I plan to read a book for a couple of uninterrupted hours, a rare luxury; used to be, I could spend a whole day reading.

What I don't know is, whether or not the inability to focus and retain knowledge due to distractions is a true loss? Can years of this change the brain? The brain is renowned for its plasticity, so I should think so. Experts tell us kids who grow up in this information flood are developing the ability to learn and retain in spite of the distractions. It seems being exposed to an information overload in their early, formative years hardwires their brains with the ability to cope. The brain in anyone older than 10 years doesn't hardwire so easily.

All my worrying about it aside, because it won't help, here are some online games I've found that help keep preserve or improve mental skills, as judged by me. The games listed develop one or more mental skills that are important to me in my career: analytical, problem-solving, creativity, multi-tasking, visual, and memory.

Boomshine - analytical, visual
Hoshi Saga - problem-solving
Lumosity - analytical, memory, visual
Park-a-Lot II - only 2 levels, though :( - memory, multi-tasking, visual
Sudoku - analytical
Tower Defence - analytical, creativity
Tower Defence by Flash Element - analytical, creativity
Tower Defense (I prefer this to the first) - analytical, creativity
Worldbuilder 1 by Lego - problem-solving
Worldbuilder 2 by Lego - problem-solving

While I was thinking about how to write this post, I found an article that complemented the subject.

I was thinking about people I know who have a large network of friends. For example, my pharmacy preceptor this month is friends with several optometrists in Lexington my wife has done fill-in work for. I depend on my wife's network to help us find a house cleaner or an electrician. As for me, I don't enjoy such a rich network of contacts. I am the title of this post, a network failure.

Failure is a strong word; perhaps I'm a tad bit harsh on myself. But I am a loner, no doubts there, and the thing is, I enjoy it, mostly. It does have its drawbacks. My wife and I split up for a couple years back when we were dating, and I had a difficult time finding new relationship prospects. Eventually, though, my network did come through for me; a friend led me to one, and I found another on my own.

Word of mouth, electricians, house cleaners, poor turnout at their funerals, the scoop on which jobs are great and which to avoid, and knowing when career opportunity exists. These are some of the disadvantages network failures confront. Yes, I honestly worry that only a few people will come to my funeral - it's a reason to avoid death. Since my agnosticism implies that I don't believe I'll have any form of existence when I'm dead, it must seem strange that I even care, but I do. It would be so embarrassing to have a bunch of empty chairs at my funeral. A testament to my network failure.

While we're on the subject, who will officiate my funeral? Being agnostic and all, I can hardly imagine the good Southern Baptist ministers in town volunteering for the task, and even if they did, could they honestly say I'd gone to be with my heavenly father? I would think not. It doesn't really affect me to imagine them saying I was burning in hell, because I don't believe in it, but I don't think it's cool to speak ill of the dead.

In spite of all these anxieties, I am not about to embrace the same religion I've spent 20 years divorcing myself from just to have a minister willing to officiate my funeral and say good things about me... just as I am not willing to force myself to be uncomfortable and suffer by giving up my loner social tendencies to enjoy the advantages of a large social network. Nor do I think I could do either if I tried... I'd fail miserably.

There's no reflective statement here, no epiphany, no nugget of wisdom. Just an observation, a statement of fact. Still, though, I wonder... really, who does speak at funerals for atheists and agnostics?