Benched (or couched?).

"I've felt pretty fantastic for the last few months (discrete bouts of vasovagal syncope aside)," I gloated just the other morning before heading out to teach a few English lessons, only to be felled by yet another such bout a few minutes from home. Again, I tried to perservere on my way; again, I failed; again, I was brought home by a kind and generous passerby, herself accompanied by a sweet little cherry of a girl aptly named Cerise.

Although this is a marvelous way to meet the best of humanity, it's making things difficult. The bouts strike with no warning – one minute I'm perfectly fine, the next I begin to feel my body compressed into itself from the shoulders down, the wave of warmth, the loud pressure in my ears, the world disappearing before my eyes, my legs collapsing underneath me. Wednesday was the first time I actually had to miss lessons, but I was close to it the previous few times, which makes the episodes, and the unknowable chance thereof, even more stressful.

So it seemed time for a more serious sit-down with the sweet yet stern doctor, which was conveniently already on the calendar for today as a scheduled check-up. In fact, she seemed a bit horrified by my state. I am still hobbling and limping from the back pain, which has been going on for a month now with no sign of improvement despite osteopathic treatment.

She was also more concerned than I expected about the intermittent contractions and painful, menstrual-like-except-stronger cramps that have started coming on when I walk (or hobble), even slowly and for short distances. A check of my cervix shows that all is still in order, but to be sure – as well as to try to put an end, once and for all, to my back woes – she wants me at home, resting, for at least the next ten days.

She wonders also if the syncope could perhaps be related to glucose problems instead of (or in addition to) vasovagal response, since I was just at the limit of acceptable after the two-hour glucose tolerance test. That means some dietary modifications are now in order, too. These ten days of resting will thus unfortunately not be accompanied by the boxes of bonbons that could have made them more tolerable.

In sum: sigh. So much for "pretty fantastic." The honeymoon is officially over.

But there was some good news, too, though: baby is growing well, very well, as could be seen from the inside, as would be shown here if we had received a pic in addition to a get-on-the-couch Rx, and as can be seen from the outside here (well, kind of; there's still some room to grow ... on delicious low-glycemic-index foods).

Also, after weeks of lying horizontally, kicking and prodding me on side or the other but never in-between, baby is now head-down, a position I suspect it of getting into just last night. For about ten minutes, it seemed as if there were a catfight going on in my mid-section (I could almost hear the yowling), and for the first time, I felt pummeling directly below the belly-button. Perfect. Stay there, baby. Stay there for exactly eleven and a half more weeks, if you would.

couch time, under the strictest of feline surveillances.