Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Total Stream of Consciousness Not Worth Reading

This is my son's room right now. To be fair, this is only half of the room. The other half is actually cleared out and ready to have furniture and baby stuff but this side is where the crib is going to go. Right there in front of the window is my plan, based on the layout I have in my head. The changing table is also going over here somewhere. The layout in my head is sort of fuzzy because the boxes make it hard to visualize.

Obviously there is much work to be done.

I did spend some time in there the other day emptying out some boxes and putting things in their proper homes. It's not as bad as I thought it was going to be because all of the boxes, except for one or two, are deceptive in that they're destined straight for the attic without unpacking or sorting. It's boxes of that stuff that you want to keep for whatever reason but don't really want out anywhere. The other two (or 3) boxes are full of clothes, about half of which I'm betting can be thrown out or given away. Finding a home for the stuff I want to keep will be hard because the Ikea dresser from hell has still not been put together and there's seriously no place to put them. At this point I may just close them and put them in the room on the third floor which has a bright future as a guest room/play room/walk in closet but right now is a catch all for crap I don't want to deal with.

My plan for today is to get in there and do some more clearing out. The problem is I can't really be on my feet for any length of time. I'm not supposed to be, for one thing, but also I physically at this point can't do it. I'm a huge sissy because I can't suck it up and all you girls are still going to work every day - or did when you were pregnant - but I can't do it. After about 5 minutes on my feet I have to sit down, totally out of breath. I really have to get going though because the shower is Saturday and we're going to actually put all the resulting stuff somewhere. Also, the crib right now is in the living room, in pieces. He's not going to sleep in it for a while, but still. I'd like to have the whole room ready.

All this and I'm 35 weeks today. We have an ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow and the doctor on Friday. I'm worried that the ultrasound doctor is going to take one look and say go directly to labor and delivery, screw your plans and your shower. Or that my doctor on Friday will. Realistically, this is doubtful I'm aware. They most likely won't do anything before 37 weeks but even so, it's not like I have all the time in the world over here.

Can you tell how much I'm hoping that time is really running out? That I don't want to wait four more weeks, nursery be damned?

Monday, March 16, 2009

It's Official

The first thing I did when I got the glucose test results from the doctor's office was to call Frank at work. When he got home that night he suggested maybe I should call the doctor's office again and ask to talk to him to get some more information. This was a good plan because neither of us was terribly comfortable with the idea of just waiting for two weeks. I'm pretty sure Frank was staring down two weeks of me using the internet to educate myself on the worst possible outcomes of a diagnosis of gestational diabetes and wanted to avoid that fun house of neurosis at all costs. We didn't even have an official diagnosis since the only person I talked to yesterday was the medical technician who is probably discouraged from doing that.

So I called the doctor early Friday morning, hoping that by calling before the office actually opened, I could get the answering service and get the message directly to the doctor thereby bypassing the receptionists at his office who Frank swears are really these guys in human form except not funny at all. My plan did not work out so well as one of the charming ladies called me back to take the same message all over again.

The doctor called a few hours later and said that it is officially gestational diabetes. The two hour test the technician (a lovely girl named Tangela who is warm and pleasant and does the best job ever of not hurting me when she takes my blood) was talking about is one of a series of weekly tests I have to undergo from now until the end. Every week I have to go to the doctor's office two hours after I've eaten to have my blood drawn and my sugar tested. A pain in the ass to be sure but I was getting close to the weekly visits anyway and it's still far better than having to stick myself 4 times a day, which some people have to do. I also have to go every week for ultrasounds and nonstress tests so they can monitor how big the boy is getting and how his little heart is keeping up.

Thankfully, my numbers aren't high enough to require insulin shots or medication of any kind. I just have to stay far away from sugar, including juices, flavored yogurts, and simple carbs like white bread and white pasta. A friend of mine who is a PA in an endocrinologist's office gave me some good information about breakfast. According to her, your body is most insulin resistant in the mornings so the last thing to eat is fruit, cereal, or juice. Hello I start my day with a giant glass of orange juice, followed my an english muffin or a bagel or some cereal and another glass of orange juice and maybe a piece of fruit. (Confession: I've been taking advantage of this pregnancy to go to town on the foods I would never otherwise eat, like english muffins and orange juice.) The best thing to eat, according to my friend, is animal based proteins (like eggs) and a small amount of whole grains, like steel cut oatmeal or whole grain toast. It's also best to eat several small meals all day long to avoid spikes or dips in blood sugar. That part I have covered since sitting at home all day means snacking all day. Now though, "snacking" has to be carrot sticks instead of Doritos.

The biggest concern apparently is the size of the chicken. Based on the last ultrasound we had - about 3 weeks ago while in the hospital - he was already about 4.5lbs. If he continues to grow at an average rate for the next 6 weeks, he'll gain about 4.5 more pounds, which means he'll weigh 9lbs at birth. The doctor said if he gets that big (according to their ultrasound estimates) they won't allow me to even try and deliver and will instead plan a c-section. The reality is he could be much bigger than that since insulin is a growth hormone and he's getting way more of it than is normal. They will also only allow nature to take its course up until my due date. If nothing is happening by that day, they'll have me come in and either induce or just go in and get him.

So more fun and excitement as we head into the home stretch. I'm glad that we have only 6 weeks of this stuff ahead of us, although catching it earlier than they did would probably not have been a bad thing.

In other exciting news, we had our second trip to Labor and Delivery last night, because it was so fun the first time. All day long I had been having a lot of contractions. Hard, painful ones. But they weren't getting closer together and there was no real pattern to them. Still, by about 6pm I decided to start keeping track because it did seem like a lot and the doctor's instructions were to call if I had more than four in an hour. I kept track for four hours and in the first two, I had four contractions. In the next hour, I had 7 contractions. By the third, I was up to 7 and the hour wasn't over yet when Frank called from work and asked how I was feeling. I told him about the contractions but said don't worry, it's not labor, there's no pattern, everything is fine. He said are you insane, call the doctor right now. I didn't want to call the doctor or go to the hospital because I don't want to be alarmist, neurotic, first time prego. But I called him and he said go get checked. Frank was already on his way home when I called him back and honestly, I fought off tears as I got dressed and waited for him.

At the hospital, same drill. Into the exam room, stupid hospital gown, hooked up to the monitors and yay! another pelvic exam complete with speculum! It wasn't too bad this time. It still hurt but far less, probably because I was prepared for what it would be like this time. The doctor said my cervix was totally closed and my water was intact (I had mentioned to them that I had been feeling like a leaky faucet all day). Relieved, I was ready to put my pants back on and go home. Right. I was in fact having contractions very close together and my heart rate and the chicken's heart rate were both a little high. Solution? IV fluids! Yay! And when the first bag of fluids was empty, the contractions hadn't slowed down and neither had our heart rates so they hung another one and we watched more crap tv. Finally, around 2am the doctor was satisfied that the contractions had slowed down and so had our heart rates and were allowed to go home. The nurse said you can get dehydrated even if you're drinking water all day long. Not sure how to prevent that in the future but good to know.

6 more weeks to go. I wonder what adventure awaits us next. The truth is, we're not so secretly hoping that they decide to go get him early, like 37 or 38 weeks. At this point, we just want him here, safe and healthy, and no more bumps in the road.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

You've Got to be Kidding

Yesterday we went for the 3 hour glucose screening since I failed the one hour test. Can I tell you it was pure torture? It was at 9 in the morning which meant leaving our house at 8 in the morning because rush hour on the world's most poorly designed highway - and the only sensible way into the city - turns a drive that should take 20 minutes into an hour long affair. I don't sleep anymore so waking up wasn't an issue but the last thing you want to do when you haven't slept is get out of bed. Frank had his dart league the night before and only got about 5 hours of sleep. We were not a happy pair to encounter.

At the doctor's it was the same deal: take my blood, drink a sugar drink. This one was even worse because it had DOUBLE the amount of glucose in it than the one hour. And it wasn't even orange, it was some fake me out lemon lime grossness but I drank it thankfully because I hadn't even had water since the night before. Because you know, water is somehow going to impact my glucose levels and throw the entire test out of whack. I'm smart. And rational. Anyway, drink the drink and then we saw the doctor who said I have a 50 percent chance of actually having gestational diabetes. What the hell kind of odds are those? I was expecting something way more lopsided (in my favor) and definitive than "you may have it or you may not".

Other than that the doctor didn't have much to say. My weight is pretty stable - a surprise to me since all I do is sit home and eat anymore - and the belly is measuring exactly what it should for 33 weeks. He said that when he does the Group B Strep test he'll also break out the speculum to take a look at the "alleged polyp". He's still not entirely convinced that's what it is, which is why I'm still under house arrest, just in case it's something more serious. Awesome. I love a pelvic exam with the speculum in late pregnancy. It's great to cry in the doctor's office from pain!

Then we went back out the waiting room to sit and well, wait. I was flying from the glucose drink and feeling a little sick to my stomach. That is some seriously gnarly stuff to give a girl who hasn't eaten since the day before. I was all shaky and wobbly and a little tweaked out. I brought a book to read but spent a lot of the first hour leaning on Frank's shoulder and trying to keep the room from spinning. Then back for another blood draw. We sat for two more hours of waiting and blood draws. Also, it was 479 degrees in that waiting room, which only got worse as it filled with people. By the last hour I felt like my face was going to melt off.

Finally it was all over and we got to go home. When I tell you the wooziness was bordering on loss of consciousness I am not lying. Of course I had to field a work related call on the way home. It was not my best moment and I'm sure there was some babbling incoherence happening. The first thing I did when we got home was make a fat sandwich with chicken cutlets my mom made for me. Then I made straight for the couch where I spent the rest of the day in various stages of semi-consciousness, except when I had to answer the phone for work. Then I put my fake, "what, I'm totally awake" voice on and tried to keep my crap together.

The girl who ran the test said that the results would be in today and that they would call only if they had something to tell me. I tried really hard all day to just wait it out and not be the neurotic spaz who calls even when they said they'd call me. I made till about 4 at which point I couldn't take it anymore. Guess what folks? My test was abnormal! My numbers were way higher than the guidelines. Now according to the internet, my source for all things true and not alarmist in any way, failing the 3 hour test is an automatic diagnosis of gestational diabetes. This is according to the Mayo clinic and WebMD, not you know, Yahoo answers or anything.

My doctor however, wants to do some other type of test where I eat a small meal first, then come in and have my blood effing drawn again. He plans to talk to me about it at my next appointment, IN TWO WEEKS. That's right. Two weeks of growing a giant baby who might have jaundice and hypoglicemia at birth before another damn test. At this rate, I'm going to deliver the boy before they get around to diagnosing the damn problem. Also, two weeks with nothing to do but think about it.

Frank says I jinxed myself into all of these problems by obessesively watching endless hours of When Childbirth Attacks. I say none of this funny, dammit and what happened to that pregnancy I was having for the first 6 1/2 months where nothing was happening at all? Can I have that back please?

Monday, March 9, 2009

House Arrest in Full Effect

We went back to the doctor last Wednesday for my 32 week visit, which was also a follow up visit after my hospital vacation, and also the day for my glucose screening. When we got to the doctor's office, the lady at the front desk told us he wasn't there because he had to deliver a baby but he wanted me to have the glucose test anyway, especially since it was already a little late in the game for it. I was bummed because I was really looking forward to being taken off house arrest at this appointment.

So fine we go back for the test and it's no big deal really. I didn't mind the sugar drink at all. It was kind of like what orange jello would taste like if you drank it in liquid form, or like a super orangey version of the "orange drink" we used to get at camp. Since my one consistent craving this whole pregnancy has been oranges and orange flavored things, it was pretty good. We both brought books to kill the hour in between so we went back out to the waiting room and settled in to wait.

Did I mention that I had to go in for the test fasting? Apparently, some docs allow you to eat the day of the test but mine isn't one of them. About 15 minutes after the blood draw and the sugar drink the wildest sugar rush of my life set in. I actually felt a little drunk. All speedy and kinda woozy. And then very quickly crashing down tired and a little nauseated.

At some point around that time, the doctor appeared out of nowhere, beckoning to two other women from the waiting room. One had a duffel bag and her husband in tow, the other had a friend or family member of some kind. Both women were in the exam rooms for maybe 10 minutes and then they reappeared, one after the other. The doctor has this very convenient policy wherein if you want him to deliver your baby while he's on call at the hospital, you can schedule a day with him and he'll break your water and then you go across the street to the hospital and say "I think my water broke". This is what happened with both those women, I'm sure and I figured he wasn't going to talk to me at all.

On his way out of the office to head back to Labor and Delivery though, he did stop to talk to us. I asked him my burning question as to whether his orders for me were the same. He said to get up and move around a little more normally over the weekend and see what happens. Still no exercising and no lifting of anything remotely heavy. Frank asked, "She still can't go back to work, right?" and the doctor pretty much said I could go back to work until I landed myself back in the hospital with more bleeding but the best thing to do and his recommendation was to just stay home. The nurse called me back to take my blood again and that was that.

After the appointment we headed down to South Philly to get some cheesesteaks from Geno's. Generally, we don't get our cheesesteaks from Pat's or Geno's because they're not that good and those places are really for tourists who don't know any better and really, I eat a cheesesteak like once a year. On a more personal level, I stay away from Geno's in particular because the old man is a xenophobe who has been waging a nasty ( albeit unintentionally comical) campaign against immigrants and non-English speakers. His support for the Phila police is unparalleled though and on this particular day, Geno's was hosting a fund raiser for the family of the most recent Philadelphia police officer to be killed in the line of duty. 6 officers have been killed in the past 16 months in my fair city, 4 shot to death and 2 killed in car accidents by repeat criminals under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol. The most recent was a 25 year old newlywed whose wife is expecting their first child. The least we could do is buy a couple of cheesesteaks and a tshirt.

I was so wiped out from the stupid sugar drink and the blood draws and then in a food coma from eating a cheesesteak too fast, I passed out on the couch for about 3 hours when we finally got home. It was a really good nap.

The next day, the doctor's office called to tell me that I failed the glucose screening. Of course I immediately started googling "gestational diabetes" and "acceptable glucose level" so as to reassure myself. And by reassure myself, of course I mean freak myself the eff out. There's no real standard of what's a really high number, what's marginal, or what's normal. Some doctors cut off at 140, some higher, some lower. There was no comfort in the damn internet but I didn't come across any horror stories so at least there was that. So this Wednesday we're headed back to the doctor for the 3 hour test. I'm trying to remain calm and tell myself that it's normal and lots of people fail the first round and then turn out to be normal on the 3 hour. My own sister in law just went through it last month and she was declared fine after her 3 hour test. But really, at this point I'm not shrugging anything off or ruling anything out. Also nagging my thoughts is the fact that this boy is already measuring quite a bit bigger than average for this particular stage of development which is of course a side effect of gestational diabetes. Awesome. We shall see. At least they'll let me know the next day so that should keep the obsessing to a minimum.

We're pretty convinced that this boy is not going to wait 7 more weeks to make his grand entrance. I'm feeling fairly certain he's going to be an early bird. If that does turn out to be the case, he totally gets it from his dad.

Friday, March 6, 2009

A Little Excitement

So you know on all the pregnancy websites it tells you to always call the doctor if anything seems weird because it's always important and they won't think you're crazy or neurotic and they always would rather see you and send you home for nothing than not? Funny thing happened a week ago Saturday night (so not this past Saturday night, the one before), I got to test that theory out.

It had been a long week for me. I had been in Miami for the weekend for work and while it was actually very relaxing and fun, getting a family packed and ready for vacation, the whole plane thing, and just not being home really wore me out.

As soon as we got back to Philadelphia I was slammed with a brutal cold. I was coughing so hard my stomach muscles were sore. The doctor prescribed me antibiotics because at this stage my immune system is a total punk and a simple cold can morph into bronchitis or pneumonia quickly. He also prescribed cough syrup with codeine in it so that I could actually get some sleep. Who knew a prego could take codeine? It was all very low dose stuff, not regular strength at all. As soon as we got home from the doctor I took my medicine and went straight to bed. That was Thursday. I stayed in bed all afternoon that day and the entire next day, sleeping mostly and watching television. Did I mention I'm addicted to Birth Day and Deliver Me on the Discovery Channel? There's about 4 hours in the afternoon every day of these shows. Also another one called Bringing Home Baby where they show the first 36 hours home with a newborn. I don't understand the people who sign up to be on these shows. Who wants to be a crying, greasy, breastfeeding mess on television? Not me, but I'll watch you do it.

Saturday I felt a little better and also guilty and pissed off about my weekend being wasted in bed when there were dishes in the sink and my suitcase wasn't unpacked and I felt like a lazy slob. I decided to get up and tackle the dishes first. It seemed like they took a long time but I was probably moving in slow motion. The whole time I stood at the sink I was having contractions but I just chalked them up to Braxton-Hicks and paid no attention. The dishes pretty much wiped me out so I headed back to bed.

Poor Frank had been hiding in the basement all week so as to avoid my disgusting germiness and also to give me space to thrash around and cough my head off. When he came home on Saturday night we actually spent some time together in his man cave in the basement since I wasn't contagious anymore. He fell asleep and I went back to my sick bed to watch some more television. CSI Miami is on for hours and hours on the weekends and it's pure trash and I love it. CSIs don't actually walk around in low cut tops and 5 inch heels. Did you know that? They wear coveralls and are usually big fat guys. They also don't interview suspects or witnesses. They collect all the crime scene grossness and then leave. Frank shares this with me every time the show is on, which is why I only watch it when he's not around.

Around 2am I had some discharge that didn't feel normal but again, paid no attention because Horatio was about to crack the case and get the bad guy and really, the mystery of pregnancy discharge is never ending. About 20 minutes later I got up to go to the bathroom and blood! There was bright red, coming out of me, blood! I ran downstairs to Frank (still in the basement) and woke him up saying we had to go the hospital right now! He said well let's look it up on the internet. He Googled something like 30 week bleeding or whatever and everything that came up said call your doctor right away. So I called the doctor's office, got the answering service who paged the doctor, he called back and said go to the hospital.

We got dressed and headed for the hospital, I tried not to freak out and Frank saw it as a good opportunity to do a test run since the hospital is about 30 minutes away. When we got there I told the nurse at the desk "I'm 30 and a half weeks and I'm bleeding and the doctor said go to the hospital". The doctor on call was standing right there and she said "I'll see you in a minute". They put us in a room and gave me a gown. I got in the hospital bed and they hooked me up to a fetal monitor and a contraction monitor and an IV. The doctor came in and asked me questions about the bleeding and then did a pelvic exam with a speculum. She found and removed a large clot off my cervix.

Ok, I've had hundreds of speculum exams and while they're never pleasant or comfortable, they've never hurt. This hurt like you wouldn't believe. I was actually crying out from how much it hurt. Apparently you're not really supposed to jam stuff like that up there while pregnant. It doesn't feel so good.

The doctor said I wasn't dilated at all but couldn't explain the bleeding. Meanwhile, the contraction monitor showed I was having a contraction A MINUTE. I wasn't even feeling them but there they were on the print out from the monitor, consistent bumps. They called my doctor to tell him what they found and he ordered me admitted, put on magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions, and steroids to mature the baby's lungs in case labor continued to progress. The steroids by the way? Literally a shot in the ass. At that point it was about 5am and I was totally dazed and shocked by all of these developments. I was fully expecting for them to listen to my story, do an exam, and send me home. Instead, they wheeled me into a room on the Labor and Delivery floor hooked up to all kinds of machines (including a catheter because I wasn't allowed out of bed under any circumstances - awesome!) and told me I was there for at least 24 hours.

We both tried to sleep for a while, Frank in a hospital chair. The nurses and residents were in every hour checking the monitors and my reflexes and my breathing so sleeping wasn't really happening. Also, sleeping with a catheter? Right. I did doze for a few hours. The doctor came in around 9, not my doctor but a partner from the practice, and I asked him if this was just a whole lot of precaution and he said "no, you were contracting every minute and would have gone into full blown labor if you didn't come in". Ok then.

The day passed in a blur of nurses and visitors. It was really hard to know what day it even was (Sunday) since my room didn't have a window and we got there in the middle of the night. Lora came to see me bearing all the things a girl should have while spending time in Labor and Delivery, stuff rookies like me don't even think of, like hair clips and chapstick. Frank went home for the night - there's nowhere to sleep in the hospital and our poor dog was home all by herself all day - and I tried to sleep but again, the constant checking and poking and beeping and lights. It's never dark enough. I think I finally got to sleep a little around 1am, only to wake up at 5 with Frank back next to me and the nurse there to give me a second shot of steroids (2 doses in 24 hours is required) before I was even fully conscious.

My own doctor came in around 8 to see how I was doing and I asked him when this whole fun experience was going to be over. He said I had to spend at least one more night so they could monitor what happened after they stopped the magnesium. I waited until he left the room to cry. Thankfully, the nurses came in and took off the magnesium and iv and antibiotics and disconnected the iv completely (they left part of it in my arm in case I had to be hooked up again), and greatest thing ever, they took me off the catheter. I was allowed to get up to go to the bathroom and everything. The first time I got up my legs didn't work. The nurses warned me that it was a side effect of the drugs and to let them know the first time I needed to get up so they could help me and seriously? My legs didn't work. Frank thought it was hilarious and asked me if I was drunk.

Eventually they moved me out of Labor and Delivery and into the Antepartum unit which is full of pregos trying to stay that way and I was finally allowed to eat something. That's right. There's no eating or drinking while on magnesium or anywhere near possible labor. At first I didn't notice because of the iv but as soon as they let me eat I went to town. Hospital food was the best thing I'd ever seen! They also took me off of constant monitoring and instead did it twice a shift. Frank brought me some things from home so I could take a shower - including a towel. Hospital bath towels are small and thin and scratchy and thankfully, I'd read about this already. Seriously, if you're looking at any kind of hospital stay, bring your own towel. The rest of the day (Monday now) passed uneventfully. I watched tv and napped and talked to Frank, who was going home only to feed the dog and shower, and looked forward to Tuesday when I could finally go home.

Tuesday was all about waiting for my doctor to come by and give me the all clear. More tv and napping and talking to Frank. More monitoring that showed a baby that never stops moving and maybe a contraction an hour. Some time in the afternoon I got up to go to the bathroom and...more blood! I didn't even want to tell the nurses but Frank made me. A few minutes later my doctor comes in and said he was on his way over to discharge me but now, not so much. They scheduled me for an ultrasound the next day and I settled in for another night at the damn hospital. At that point, the doctor was concerned that it was a placental abruption and he wanted an ultrasound to see what exactly was going on in there.

More tv, more napping, more hospital food. Halfway decent sleep on Tuesday night and on Wednesday, more of the same. I told Frank to stay home and sleep in and he came around noon bearing gifts of food from the hospital cafeteria, including Doritos. They came to take me for the ultrasound around 1pm and I had to go in a wheelchair. The nice lady wheeled me into the ultrasound waiting area, filled with people in regular clothes and I know I scared all the pregnant ladies and made them feel sorry for me at the same time. Mercifully she didn't leave me in the waiting room, instead wheeling me right into the ultrasound area to wait in the hall.

The technician performed the ultrasound, checking for size and stuff, and then the doctor came in, resident in tow. He was a high risk pregnancy doc and he asked me all sorts of questions about what happened and how I ended up there. He then took a look with the ultrasound and didn't find any evidence of placental abruption, but did find some polyps on my cervix which he said were the culprits for the bleeding. He said it was his opinion that I could go home that day and he would call me doctor and say so.

We got back to my room and waited for what seemed an interminably long time before they officially declared me able to go home. It was probably a couple of hours. Finally, the resident came in and said she talked to my doctor and I was free to go home, after she explained the doctor's orders. I was to be on modified bed rest. Modified in that I could get out of bed to sit on the couch and I could get up from the couch to use the bathroom and that's it. No more going to work, no more anything vertical. They discharged me and the man with the wheelchair came and wheeled me all the way to the car door and we went home. I was never so happy to be home in my whole life.

That was a week ago Wednesday. My mom and mother in law have been here, cleaning and cooking. Frank has been awesome doing everything around here while yelling at me to sit down. I don't sit so good. And I wait for word from the doctor that everything's fine now, go back to your regularly scheduled life.

I'm not holding my breath.

Still Here

I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth. A whole mess of crap has gone down around here in the past couple weeks. Crap involving hospital and medication and way too many contractions way too close together. Also, a bunch of crap I still call total overreaction and can I please just get off this couch and go back to work now?

And as of today, the hits just keep on coming.

I'm trying to sort it all out and get it all down but it's a long story and it's proven more difficult to share than I thought it would. I may just put up what I've got so far. Especially since the universe keeps providing me with new material.

Everything's ok. The chicken is still on the inside cooking. My body has just decided that this pregnancy has been way too easy and boring so far and we need some excitement around here.

Full story coming soon, promise.