The Hardest Decisions

My parents came into town last week.  Their plan is to stay with us through Sunday and we are so grateful for the help.  It means we can do things like sleep through the 2 a.m. feeding while my mom takes care of it.  It means we don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn with Daughter because my dad is an early riser. 

When I realized the advantage of having extra adults around, I immediately thought of running.  In the last several weeks, my running has been sparse.  I’ve been trying to nail down my family’s work-daycare-commuting-bedtime routine before trying to fit running back into my life.  (I can’t help but think about how ridiculous it seems that we would have a routine.  We are soooooo far away from that.)  Unless there are extra adults in my household, running is rarely an option.   

I took a few minutes on Sunday to plan a week of workouts since we had the help this week:  Leave work a little early on Monday so I can run with the club; go to body pump Tuesday morning while Daughter is at preschool (didn’t have to bring the baby with me); enjoy Halloween on Wednesday with my family; run in the afternoon on Thursday; and then catch up with the club again on Saturday morning.  It seemed easy enough and completely realistic.

And then came Monday, a whirlwind day at work.  The kind of day that offers a 5 minute lunch and 5 minutes to pump.  I didn’t leave work as early as I was hoping and raced home as best as I could in rush hour traffic.  (The drive home is almost an hour.)  I really wanted to run and I was anxious to meet the club.  My motivation was high. 

Until I walked in the door and picked up my baby boy.  How could I turn around and leave him again when I’d been gone all day?  And for something as selfish as running.  I was immediately overwhelmed with emotions.  Sad about not spending the day with him.  Conflicted about being a working mom.  But most of all, frustrated that I can’t fit all the things I want into my life.  So damn frustrated. 

I went upstairs to pump, but while I was up there, I decided that it would be ridiculous to run.  My family needs me.  My baby will only be little for a short while.  Chris got home and I talked it through with him.  I told him I can’t win, but I should err on the side of my family.  I will be upset no matter what I choose.  I imagined the tears streaking down my face while I was out running because I wasn’t home with my family.  At the same time I imagined being crabby and miserable because I missed a run yet again. 

In the end, I decided to run, since I had planned on it.  As much as I didn’t want to, I was going to follow through with my plan.  In that moment, I hated myself for it.  It’s the age old dilemma of parents.  Where do you draw the line between doing what’s best for yourself vs. doing what’s best for your kids?  If you have an answer, I’d love to hear it. 

So off to running club I went.  I got there a few minutes late and ended up following some of my old pace group, a group I haven’t run with in ages because I’m a lot slower than them these days.  What’s not-so-fun about running club this time of year is that it’s dark.  I very soon realized that if I couldn’t keep up with them, I’d be running alone in the dark.  So I hauled ass.  I ran with Bruce for a while and listened to him talking with another runner.  I, however, was unable to speak.  I was sucking wind the whole time.  My entire warm-up was a crazy fast pick-up.  But I did it.  I stuck with the group.   When we got to the Tyrol hill loops, I took off ahead of the group while they were getting situated.  I figured they would be passing me very shortly, so my plan was to prolong that.  What ended up happening was unexpected.  I ended up running alone in the dark AHEAD of my group.  I can’t explain why they didn’t catch me.  I suspect they were all running extra slow for my benefit, but they denied this.  I ended up running all three loops alone and I loved it.  I was running.  I wasn’t getting passed.  I felt great.  Euphoric, even.  I can easily say it was my best run of the year because the improvement was tangible.   I’m running faster than I did a couple weeks ago.  It was awesome. 

I was still flying high on endorphins when I got home.  When I walked through the door, though, I fell all the way down from that high.  It was 7:30 and Baby was already in bed for the night.  In the entire day, I spent less than an hour with him.  My heart broke immediately.  How could I be so selfish?  How is this ever going to work?

I still don’t know how to make it work.  I’ll get my workouts in when I can here or there, but there will be no routine to speak of for a long while.  Not while sleep is so unpredictable for all of us.  I never even got to tell Chris about my awesome run or how I kept up with my old pace group.  When he reads it here, it’ll be the first time he hears about it.  Life is still pretty hectic for us.  We’re doing okay, but a lot of the time, I feel like we’re just barely getting by. 

And the one take-away thought I’m keeping with me from Monday’s experience:  Working moms can’t have it all.  We just can’t.  Something has to give at all times, whether it’s the quality of our work or the quality of time spent with our family.  And that doesn’t even include time for ourselves.  Time for running.  Time for having a date with our husbands.  Or even time to tell partners about our days.  

It's Okay

I have a new mantra:

“It’s okay.” 

I tell this to myself this at least a hundred times a day and it calms me down.  At least for a second.

When I forget to restock the diaper bag and the only thing Baby has after his blowout is a clean diaper and some of Daughter’s socks to wear as pants . . .

It’s okay.

When I try to get to bed immediately after Daughter’s bedtime so I can get 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep before Baby wakes up, but then remember that Baby is out of clean bibs and laundry can’t wait, and the sink is still full of dishes and Daughter needs a nice family photo to bring to school tomorrow and Crap!  I haven’t pumped yet and there are no clean bottles . . .

It’s okay.

When it’s the first day back at work at a facility I’ve never worked at before and I miss Baby like crazy and it’s the same day my mom is having surgery . . .

It’s okay.

When I can’t get out for the walk around the lake that I was really hoping to get in since it was such a nice day out . . .

It’s okay.

When I keep running out of time to eat because all of the sudden I’ve become a soccer mom . . .

It’s okay. 

When the weight doesn’t come off as fast as I was hoping, but at least it’s coming off . . .

It’s okay. 

When the guilt weighs me down as I race out the door to get to running club, leaving Chris alone with the kids at their neediest time of day . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize just how much time and work it will take to run well again . . .

It’s okay. 

When I can’t find the time to get rid of the dead plants that have been sitting on the counter for 2 months, or to pick up the mound of clothes that have accumulated on my desk chair, or to send in the registration form for the MNA conference, or to order birth announcements, or reply to that email . . .

It’s okay. 

When I do find a block of free time and just stare at the TV instead of crossing anything off my to-do list . . .

It’s okay. 

When I wake up exhausted at 4 in the morning and realize I won’t get a chance to rest until after Daughter’s bedtime . . .

It’s okay. 

When I realize I’m just barely getting by, but also happier than I’ve ever been in my life . . .

It’s okay.

Goals

I need a goal. 

While I was walking around the lake today, I considered how my goals have changed over the past 6 months.  Actually, I considered what a friend told me back when I was still running.  It was something along the lines of:  You’re priorities will change after you have a second kid.  Running is not going to be important anymore.

My goal going into pregnancy was to run throughout, maybe even up to my due date.  I wanted to run the 5k at Urban Wildland that would be 2 weeks before my due date.  Then came the complication and I had to amend.  No more running.  My new goal was to walk as much as possible.  So I did.  Walking lasted about 6 weeks before I was put on bed rest.  On bedrest, there was no exercise allowed at all.  My goal evolved into: see how little you can move in a day.  And, Let’s see how long we can keep this baby in.  When it became apparent that the baby would be a preemie, my goal was for him to be as big as possible.  I willed him to be a big baby because I didn’t want him to have complications.  He ended up big at birth, coming in at 5 -9 at 34 weeks.  But he also had complications.  When he was in the incubator the day he was born, my goal was for him to get stronger and rely less on the forced oxygen.  My goal was for him to NOT have to be transferred to the other hospital.  The opposite happened.  Once at Children’s, I hoped he wouldn’t need a ventilator.  He did.  I spent the following days with the goal of him getting it taken out.  I think you get the idea. 

My goals used to be about me.  Then they shifted to be about my son.  Now that he’s healthy and getting older (5 weeks!), I can start to think about my goals again.  Where should I start?

There’s always Boston.  In the old days, it was only 27 seconds away.  Although, that was a different me.  And it seems too far away right now to be useful.  Sure I’ll keep it in the back of my mind for someday.  But for today, it’s abstract and intangible. 

As for half marathons and marathons, I really have no idea.  I’m sure I’ll run them again, but I’m not sure which ones.  Who knows what my goals will be when I do?  Coach says I shouldn’t compare my current self to my pre-pregnancy self.  I’ll try to keep an open mind. 

The only race I’m confident about is the Kenosha Turkey Day run.  There’s a 2 mile and a 10k option.  I figure I should at least be able to run 2 miles by Thanksgiving.  I’m really hoping, though, that I can make a light run of the 10k.  Finishing the 10k would be nice.  It seems like a reasonable goal, no?

My biggest goal right now is to get this postpartum body back into running shape.  There are still a few puzzles to figure out, like “Can I run when my bra size is this outrageous?” and “How do I fit a long run in between feedings?”  I have been able to keep up my lake walks every day, a feat I’m proud of.  I’m even getting a sore knee and I find it endearing.  The scale has been creeping down.  I’m getting there . . . very slowly.

Next week, I’m expecting to be cleared for running by my OB.   It doesn’t necessarily mean that I should go out and run right away.  But it will give me more confidence that I am actually healing.  Running a mile will be my first goal.  Running a lake will be my second.  Running 2 lakes will make me feel like I’m a runner again.  That’s really all I want to be:  a runner.  

Four Weeks Postpartum

Baby Boy is four weeks old today.  I can’t believe it.  It seems like those 2 weeks in the hospital shouldn’t count, but that’s not how time works.  The newborn days are so very precious to me.  I love these first few weeks of a baby’s life . . . when he’s all helpless and floppy.  And so dang cute!!  It’s the short time before he will grow into his baby face, a face that will resemble his kid face and his grown-up face.  I love his smell and his involuntary actions:  his startle reflex and the way he roots around for something to suck on, even if it’s just my nose. 

Of the past four weeks, only one was scary.  Only part of one, in truth.  (Someday I’ll post about our experiences in the hospital, but not today.)  The rest of the time has been getting by.  Regular life with a newborn.  Feedings every 2-4 hours.  12-15 diaper changes a day.  And lots and lots of cuddles.  He’s a fantastic baby.  He nurses well, which the nurses told me is unusual for a preemie.  He sleeps about 23.5 hours out of the day.  And he only cries if something is wrong.  There’s none of this colic business that I was warned about with early babies.

Big Sister has been wonderful with him.  She loves her little brother and is very gentle with him.  We can’t always get her to wash her hands before she strokes his hair and holds his hand, but she does most of the time.  She’s not jealous yet, but I’m still waiting for that.

My recovery these last four weeks has been rather slow.  I haven’t had a break from the achy abdominal incision since I had surgery.  While the center of the scar feels fine, both ends are still giving me quite a bit of trouble in the sub-dermal layers.  Part of that may have to do with my early discharge from the hospital.  I needed to be close to my baby and wasn’t about to wait around at Methodist while he was in intensive care at Children’s.  As a result, I didn’t spend as much time in bed recovering at the hospital as I would have under normal circumstances.  Another part of it may also have to do with the surgeon’s method.  He decided to use the incision from my previous C section and expand it by several inches on each end.  This was his approach to getting around my errant placenta and doing his best to avoid “taking the uterus.”  (Side note:  It was fascinating to watch him plot out the surgery by using ultrasound.  Also disturbing at the same time.)  (Question:  why does it hurt on the edges of my incision while my whole lower abdomen is numb?)  In any case, I’m in more pain than I was expecting to be in four weeks post-op.  It makes me think that my running days are still a long ways away.     

Although it’s been slow, I’m better than I was two weeks ago.  I’m able to walk around the lake without too much trouble.  Today, I didn’t have the shooting pain in my middle that I had last time I walked Harriet.  I took that as a good sign.  My goal is to walk a lake (or walk an hour) every day.  I skipped yesterday, though, because I was hurting too much.  I’m on the fence about how to pursue exercise in my current state.  Should I wait until it doesn’t hurt at all?  That could take weeks!  Or should I keep going as long as the pain doesn’t get a lot worse.   If you know me at all, you know I’m going to lean toward the latter.  I’ve been sedentary for too long.  Plus, I think recovery will go a little better if I’m using my muscles as opposed to babying them. 

The walks have been great for my mental well-being.  I can’t say that I’ve been in a bad place, by any means, but it’s a bonus to finally be able to get some exercise.  With Daughter, I had postpartum depression and I’ve been waiting for that to settle in again.  It hasn’t yet.  But then, life is a lot different now than it was 3 years ago.  There were so many unknowns the last time around.  It was terrifying.  Plus, I didn’t have the ECFE Moms and I didn’t have my running club back then.  This time around, I feel a greater sense of purpose and a much greater sense of belonging.  I’m a lot happier and more confident, despite the annoying constant ache in my belly.

Clothes are a challenge.  I’m not quite maternity and not quite regular yet.  Don’t even get me started on bras.  (I’m a different size every day!)  But today was the first day, I saw myself as normal again.  A few sizes bigger than usual, but normal.  I finally feel like I’m on my way back.  A few dozen more lake walks and I might even fit into my running clothes again.  

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

Just when I thought things were looking up -  reaching 34 weeks and starting to breathe easier about Baby - the doctor put my fear level back at its rightful place today, somewhere up near the ceiling.  Upstairs. 

34 weeks and counting

We’ve had a couple of dates we’ve been debating about for the planned C-section: July 26^th and July 30^th.  Since we were seeing someone new today (my regular doctor is on vacation), we decided to ask New Doctor her opinion.  Our intentions were to keep baby in as long as possible.  It seems like the logical thing to do.  Less critical, but also worth considering, is the fact that Chris takes the Bar Exam on July 24^th and 25^th. 

New Doctor got us to think otherwise, with very few words.  She said that as pregnancy continues, the risk for baby goes down and the risk for mama goes up.  She said the longer we wait, the more likely the chance that they would have to “take the uterus.”  Now there’s a phrase that will grab your attention.  In fact, it hasn’t left my attention since we left the clinic. 

According to New Doc, the longer my pregnancy goes, the more likely I’d head into the hospital during another bleeding episode, either from placental detachment, or the onset of labor, or some other reason (the odds are really not in my favor).  And if I go into the hospital again while I’m bleeding, chances are it would be bad, meaning significant blood loss.  If the bleeding doesn’t slow down in a reasonable amount of time, they could take my uterus at the same time they would take my baby. 

I didn’t realize it until this afternoon, but I’m pretty fond of my womb.  I sure would like to keep it.  You might be wondering if we are planning on having more kids.  The honest answer is possibly.  Maybe even probably.  We were going to see how we could handle two before making any final decisions.  I could easily see myself having a third, though.  I absolutely love babies and I love being a mom.  Having the choice taken away would be traumatic, to say the least. 

So now we’re planning on July 26^th for delivery and we’re hoping with all of our might that we make it that far without hemorrhaging.  17  more days. 

Into the Fire

911

So it happened again.  After dinner last Thursday night, I sat down on one of my many trips to the bathroom.  After a minute, I could still hear trickling, but I was pretty sure my bladder muscles were done doing their work.  I stood up to check out what was happening and was immediately terrified.  The entire bowl was full of blood.  And blood was still trickling out of me. 

Instant panic.  I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t leave the toilet because I was leaking.  Was it just blood or was there amniotic fluid mixed in?  It reminded me a lot of when my water broke with Daughter:  a constant trickle.  I knew that if I was leaking fluid, I’d be having a baby real soon.  I got Chris’ attention and then proceeded to lose my cool.  I sobbed in the bathroom for a couple minutes, but then caught sight of Daughter still sitting at the kitchen table.  Like a smack in the face, this snapped me out of it.  I grabbed a maxi pad and got myself somewhat dressed.  Again, Chris and I fumbled with “Do we drive to ER or do we call 911?”  I couldn’t make a decision.  Chris made it for me and was on the phone with 911 dispatch by the time I came out of the bathroom.  I laid myself down on the kitchen floor to help combat gravity, not knowing at the time that I would be completely horizontal for the next 16 hours. 

                                                           

In the few minutes before the paramedics arrived, I tried my best to make Daughter comfortable.  That sweet girl brought a pillow from the couch and together, she and I laid on the kitchen floor and cuddled.  It was exactly what I needed.  Probably what we both needed.  I was worried about how she would process what was happening and what was about to happen. Thankfully, she’s a bright, well-adjusted girl.  She handled it well. 

Within minutes, my house was full of half a dozen rescue workers.  I found out later that several of them were firemen, but  I never saw the fire truck.  A couple of them started asking me questions in overly calm voices.  They couldn’t get the regular wheeled stretcher into the house, so they carried me out in an old school stretcher.  They called it the canvas and poles.  Once down both sets of front steps, they set the canvas onto the gurney and wheeled me to the ambulance.  I could see Daughter and my mom watching from the porch as I was taken away.  I desperately wanted to kiss my girl and say goodbye to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.  So I just watched her until she was out of view. 

In the ambulance, Chris sat on the bench next to me.  They started an IV.  Then we were on our way with lights and sirens.  The whole shebang.  I heard the paramedic tell the hospital that I was experiencing a possible miscarriage.   Thankfully, I knew better or I would have believed him. 

The whole way there, I thought about Daughter and my unborn son and hoped they were both okay. 

At the hospital, I got wheeled around quite a bit before we got to the right place.  The whole gurney was brought into a tiny triage room and I was put on the monitors right away.  Like last week, my uterus showed signs of irritability, but no signs of full-blown contractions.  I wasn’t in labor. 

Within 15 minutes, I was admitted and brought to a room.  Within 30 minutes, I had an IV in each arm, an automatic blood pressure cuff on my left bicep, and the perinatal doctor pressing on my belly with an ultrasound wand.  He asked how much blood I lost, which was impossible to answer.  How do you measure how much of the red toilet bowl was blood vs. water?  He seemed mad that I couldn’t give him a straight answer.  It was at this point that my blood pressure tanked.  It dropped to something absurd, like 45 over 30.  I never got the official number because I was in a haze, very, very close to passing out.  I got extremely hot and nauseous.  The doc ordered an oxygen mask on my face.  I turned to my side and stared at Chris while he kept talking to me.  About every ten seconds, he asked if I was okay.  I nodded when I could.  I felt awful. 

Slowly, I pulled out of that slump.  The doc explained to Chris, since I was not terribly alert, that my fluid level looked good, meaning I hadn’t broken my water.  He also explained that it’s pretty near impossible for me to be leaking fluid because of the placenta blocking the way.  Physically, the fluid has nowhere to go.  The doc also showed Chris a blood clot the size of a baseball and said I would be passing that in the next couple days.  He thought this was causing the uterine irritability. 

After the doc left, two nurses got to work on me.  When labs came in to take some vials of blood, the nurses realized I didn’t have an ID band on yet, so they rushed off to get that.  Sometime later, I noticed I was still wearing my civilian shirt and thankfully, it didn’t have any blood on it yet.  The nurse helped me take it off and feed it through the IV lines.  Then, she got me into a hospital gown.  Since they really didn’t want me to get up at all, I was lucky enough to get a catheter.   They also put me on magnesium sulfate via the IV to quiet the uterus and help baby’s nervous system.  Being on that is a lot like being stoned.  That’s how I stayed for the next 14 hours:  on my side, IV in both arms, catheter, blood pressure taken every 15 minutes, still leaking blood.  And the nurses said, “Try to get some rest.”  With all of that, I probably could have if I didn’t have the leaking.  As it was, I didn’t sleep at all. 

A new perinatal doc came to see me at 8:15 on Friday morning.  He told me lots of wonderful news.  The bleeding had stopped.  I could eat breakfast, since they were no longer expecting to deliver me right away.  Until that point, I was not allowed to eat or drink.  He also said I didn’t need my catheter anymore.  I was genuinely excited about that.  (It’s the little things.) He told me to get comfortable because I would be here at the hospital for a week or more.  He explained that they like to see at least 5 days of no bleeding before they will send mamas home.  He also explained that if I had a third episode of bleeding, I would be admitted to the hospital for the duration of my pregnancy.  He said, “Three strikes and you’re in.” 

On Saturday, I got moved down a floor since I was no longer a critical case.  And that’s where I’ve been since.  I haven’t really minded being in the hospital and that’s mostly because of fear of having an early preemie with lots of medical complications.  It’s easier to relax here than I expect it will be at home.  There aren’t things to clean or jobs to do here.  There’s just bed.  My menu and my 3 delivered meals.  TV.  Books.  Company.    I’m not bored yet, if you can believe it. 

On Sunday morning, Chris and I got woken up by lab coming to take more blood.  I asked her what it was for, expecting her to say hemoglobin since it was pretty low when I got admitted, but she explained it was to have a sample of my blood on hand in case I need a transfusion.  They need a fresh sample every 72 hours.  I still don’t understand this.  I’m pretty sure my blood type isn’t going to change at all, let alone every 72 hours.  But they say it’s the antibodies or some other factors in the blood that change. 

The view from my hospital room.  

They monitor baby twice a day and he’s been getting gold stars every time.  He’s very active and his accels are great.  They look for variation in his heartbeat to show he’s getting enough oxygen to move around and karate chop me from the inside.  For those of you who are runners, they like to see baby doing fartleks.  Since the blood loss is coming from the placenta, there is concern that baby is not getting enough oxygen, but thankfully that’s not what’s going on in our case.  The nurse practitioner assured me the blood loss is completely my own.  None of it is coming from baby.  Then she reminded me of how much extra blood volume pregnant women have.  150 – 200%

As of today, I am IV free.  In fact, I have nothing taped to my body right now . . . for the first time since last Thursday.  We had an ultrasound this morning and Baby looks stellar.  He’s really doing well.   There’s still no additional bleeding, but still no talk of being sent home.  That’s okay.  I feel safer here. 

The only hard part of hospital bedrest is missing Daughter and losing my ability to take care of her.  This is excruciating.  She comes to see me every day, but she’s an active little girl and I have to be careful around her.  She keeps asking me if I’m okay.  I tell her I am.  Then she asks why I’m in the hospital if I’m okay.  It’s difficult for her to understand. It’s been over a week since I last read her bedtime stories or tucked her in.  Like I mentioned before, she’s handling it well, but she needs her parents. 

Chris has been with me every night in the hospital.  Sometimes he goes home to take Daughter to the park or tuck her in, but he’s been sleeping here next to me on the pull out chair.  I’m continually struck by how much he cares about me.  He’s a good, good man.  Yesterday I told him, “I’ve never felt as loved by you as when you push me around in the wheelchair.”  And it’s true.  Being completely vulnerable is making me appreciate the people that surround me.  Especially Chris. 

There’s a good chance that I’ll be having another episode like this one again in the near future.  In fact, the doctor told me there’s a 50% chance of it.  For now, things are quiet and that’s good.  Every day that Baby Boy stays in is a celebration.  As of now, I am 31 weeks 2 days.  We’re looking forward to 32 weeks for a little bit of a safety net.  

Gratitude

The last few days, I have been thinking about how grateful I am to know the people that I know.  How different would my experience in maternity ER have been if I didn’t know the doctor on staff that day?  Instead of talking about all things serious, we talked about our neighborhood (she lives close by), we talked about our kids who take the same gym classes, we talked about qualifying for Boston and running in general.  In other words, it was relaxing to chat with her.  At the very least, it was distracting. 

I found big source of relief from texting with another friend while I was waiting in triage – a naturalist friend who happens to be the guy that introduced me to running club.  When the doctors told us we might be transferred to another hospital better equipped to deal with early preemies, I immediately thought of his wife, a pediatric doctor.  I wasn’t sure which hospital she worked at, so I asked him and explained our situation.  He replied with all kinds of helpful and encouraging information and gave me his wife’s contact information.  She was more than willing to answer our medical questions and even offered to watch Daughter that day, since she wasn’t at work.   Their generosity and support was comforting and raised my spirits.

Another nice surprise was a high school friend who works at the hospital.  She came to chat with me during her downtime after noticing I was on the patient list.  I hadn’t seen her since I was in the hospital in labor with Daughter three years ago, but she was easy to talk to.  We talked about our kids a lot and a little about Kenosha.  It was really nice. 

Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed with the kindness of the people in my world.  We have gotten numerous offers to babysit Daughter.  Neighbors reminded us that they are around waiting for us to call on them, willing to do whatever needs doing.  A gal from running club offered to come and clean my house.  Friends offered to bring us meals.  Beyond all the physical help, I have had all kinds of moral support.  Phone calls, emails, text messages, and visits.    The reassurance and companionship has been just what I needed. 

I got a chance to chat with my good friend Laura yesterday.  Laura used to live here in Minnesota, but moved back to upstate New York five years ago.  She’s one of those people I don’t talk to very often, but when we do get back in touch, it’s as if no time has passed.  We were on the phone for about two hours.  By the time we hung up, I felt invigorated.  She has a way of pointing out all the good in my life in a way that I never would have considered.  She’s a treasure. 

I want to say thanks to all of you for the love, support, and most of all, friendship.  I’m so very appreciative of circles of friends that I’ve made over the years.  I’m feeling incredibly lucky tonight.