Transplant Hospital Stay Recap

Transplant recap.

At a little before noon on Thursday the 3rd my phone rang and I saw it was the SF area code and my gut reaction was “what in the hell do they want now.” It was Jill, one of the pre transplant nurses to tell me that had a donor match for me. She had a few things to tell me and our call (oops, my bad) got dropped so she returned my call on my home phone. In the mean time I was trying to rally my family for the trip down. I called Bill at work to tell him and wound up screaming at him because he couldn’t hear me over the mill noise. I located my dad even and got him headed down. My mom, aunt and uncle all car pooled, and as it turned out, Jill called me back and talked long enough that I was able to just wait a few minutes for Bill to ride with Greg and I. I actually had to tell her she had called me on the land line and if she wanted me driving I’d have to GO.

I’m not sure how to say I was feeling at the moment. Greg and I had a little cry. I think the anticipation and worry kinda all hits you at once. Up until now it had just been something that was going to happen, eventually. Waiting to get listed, waiting for a match. You can’t answer the question “SO when are you having that transplant?” So the answer is, still waiting.

We made it to SF in 4 hours arriving at just about 4:30, Bill dropped me at the door and went to park while I went to check into admissions. We sat there for an hour after I was admitted. It pretty much let everyone who had gotten out behind us catch up. I finally got a room assignment and came up to the 10th floor. Gown, IV placed (after 5 tries), x-ray, and, you guessed it….more waiting. My family arrived and we all chatted and yapped to pass the time. We were given a tentative start time of 10pm.

They wheeled me down to the OR at about 9ish and my family was given directions to the best place to wait and when updates would be given….. Blah blah blah. They were told to expect at least a 10 hour surgery maybe more like 16 hours. Just be prepared for a long haul but that they would receive update calls throughout the surgery. My mom, Bill, Greg, my dad, auntie, uncle, bills parents, and my best friends were there waiting it out. I can’t begin to explain how much that means to me.

I was given something to “relax me” and woke up after surgery. What I do know is the first cut was made at 11:40pm after the donor lungs arrived and were double checked visually to be sure they where a good match. They wheeled me into the ICC unit on the 10th floor at 7:20am on Friday the 4th.

Since I’ve never been one to do anything “by the book” I woke up after surgery, intubated of course, but able to sign or write notes. My husband came in to see me and I guess I was scrubbing on his hand trying to write a note. I remember him saying, “Are you trying to tell me you love me?” And me shaking my head adamantly NO. They quickly found me paper, shocked that I could write coherently when not even able to open my eyes. Something that amazed every dr, therapist and nurse who would meet me over the next 7 days. When intubated they normally give you enough drugs to be comfortable and quiet. Yeah, well not so much with me. I was in quivering pain in my upper back and nothing was covering it. I would write notes when people couldn’t “get” my signs. They removed my tube on Sunday and it was so freeing.

I can’t say I was overwhelmed with the new lungs. For one my back was killing me. Rolling and pulling during surgery had thrown out my upper back. It throbbed, it spasmed, and it clinched. I actually felt like I was breathing worse than before the transplant. My chest was tight and I didn’t feel like I could take a deep breath. I was so disappointed with the way I felt. Every person I talked to who had been through transplant had said “oh wait until you take that first breath after transplant, it will feel so GREAT!”. Well I felt like was hell.

After 12 to 15 hours of being off the ventilator my surgeon came in and talked about putting me back on the ventilator. At that point it seemed such a HUGE step back that I just cried. They were even talking a possible tracheotomy. I was told my new lungs needed more rest. That they had come with a little party prize in the form of mild pneumonia and my body wasn’t happy. They didn’t say “rejection” to me, but they did to my family. Rejection, chance of death….. All those things we had dreaded. I cried while they knocked me out to put me back on the ventilator.

Again I woke up unable to talk, and still in pain. STILL IN PAIN. You have no idea. This was not, owowowow I have a huge cut. This was OMG someone is stabbing hot knives between my shoulder blades and the only thing I can do is lay on my back.

Tuesday night I was sitting up and felt a drip down my back. Bill got my nurse and sure enough, my epidural line was leaking. They made calls… nothing happened that night.

Wednesday morning they came and assessed that my epidural had in fact migrated out and was less than 1/2mm under my skin. They would come back after my bronch and after they removed the ventilator to replace it. The anesthesiologist said he couldn’t imagine having this surgery at all, let alone with an epidural that had migrated out.

Wednesday afternoon came and they were ready to take me off the ventilator again. Finally at like 3pm it came out for what was the last time. I was SOOO over it by then, but my bronchoscopes where starting to look like healthy lungs. I remember looking up at one while I was intubated and just seeing the insides on my lungs looking like white sloughing snake skin. Not mucus either. Just white and grey and dead looking. Wednesday morning my scope looked good, PINK! No mucus still, I became listed as an A-typical cystic. Yeah D’uh we know.

On Thursday I had another scope, this would be daily for the next 3 days so I’ll recap them all here. PINK! CLEAR! Healing nicely. No signs of ANYTHING abnormal, and also usually not even enough mucus to have the lab run cultures, the Dr’s where having to add saline to fool the lab into thinking they had enough to grow cultures.

Thursday at some point (night and day were all running together at this point) they came and removed one of the extra large drain tubes draining fluid from around my left lung. There were two. We were jokingly calling them 2” PVC pipe, a joke totally lost on city people. They were actually closer to ½” rigid tubes. Later that day they came back and removed the second half of the Y drain in the left. That actually alleviated some of the internal pressure I was feeling. It did nothing for my back (as we were hoping) or for the numbness across my chest.

I also went for a short walk again. Walking was a real event. Tubes, bags, IV poles, nurses, support people…..

I finally sent Bill home too. He just needed to get back home and start getting our stuff done. I was stable now, and there was a chance I wouldn’t leave the ICC but would go home straight from there, so no reason to hang for me to go to the floor.

Friday I went for a little walk and had a scope. I also got orders to move to the floor. YEAH! So they had to have a PICC line installed, like what I have at home. Once that was in and working they could remove the ART, artirial; think permanent blood gas if you have ever had one, line out of my wrist. This line was a HUGE pain. It caused machines to beep constantly. If I shifted my arm a centimeter it would set off alarms. They could also remove the large central IV line from my neck. HUGE blessings. And then we waited. No bed. At about 9 pm I gave up hoping to be moved and settled into bed for the night.

Saturday morning about 3am I started to spike a fever. It came and went all morning until about 11am. Another Bronch and the decision not to do another for a few days to allow my lungs to rest as the constant irritation was not helping. Was also agreed on that a medication that I had initially told them I had troubles with, I INDEED have troubles with and to discontinue it. A lecture over lunch about calorie intake and feeding my healing body. Then news. A BED. I was on the move to the floor. I took a quick walk in the ICC then we moved me out to the floor with all my remaining lines tubes and bags.

The move to the floor was uneventful but super tiring for me as those fevers had really drug me down. I was excited to get into a bed wider than a toothpick.

Saturday they also came and removed the final two big lung drain lines, leaving me with two little fine (about the size of fish tank air line) drains, one on each side. With those out they took out my epidural which also meant they could remove the catheter. YEAH! I had NO lines left except for the two drains, IV and 02..

Saturday night was horrible. The pain was awful and sleep was not happening.

I had a breakdown on Sunday. I was so tired again. “You look GREAT!” Thanks…weep weep weep. It was decided PAIN control WOULD be found. I was hesitant to start a bunch of narcotics and what I needed, a muscle relaxer, was impossible to give with the surgery. They don’t want you to not breath.

Monday morning I woke up in horrible pain at 5am. My bed had gone flat in the night. That SO helped. Pain control had started to be effective and we finally came up with a good plan as long as the bed would stay inflated all night. Instructions were learned by us so we could fix it ourselves. Monday after breakfast I get surprise news that I’m having a bronch. No lunch for me. Yeah. Not.

Again, bronch was clear, nothing to suck up and I wouldn’t be having another one until they do the one with the biopsy after I’m released. Best news all day. I was even lucid and interested (oh right and numb enough) to get the “grand” tour of my new lungs. I even got to count the stitches in there on each side. I can see how those bronchs would be fun to give. You have a camera and a vacuum. I can’t tell you how many time I wished pre-transplant that we could just suck the crap out of my lungs

My surgeon came in to visit and immediately wanted to know why I still had an epidural, and I said I didn’t. “Then why are you on oxygen, you don’t need that, only while that epidural is in, off with THAT,” Now we are down to IV only and two little drains.

Tuesday started out with me just being excited. My Auntie and Uncle and baby boy were coming down and bringing their house and ours for post hospital stay. Then in came one of my surgery team to remove the little drains. YEAH! I’m now almost line free. My surgeon proclaims I could go home on Thursday and could have gone home on Wednesday but she wanted to be sure my house was here and ready. Meetings and appointments are set up for Wednesday for discharge info and post transplant instructions.

About 5pm my family arrived bring some much needed clothes and fresh faces to stare at. Oh, and a bra. God bless them.

Wednesday brought my auntie, mom, Greg and I sitting through some late (of course, it’s the hospital!) stupid appointments. We had to read from the book of stupid. All the things I can and cant do post transplant. DON’T SWIM IN STAGNANT WATER. My pets are all ok, no cleaning cat boxes. Ah darn! Sadly this whole list was brought about by things other patients have ACTUALLY done (who might I ask swims in stagnant water?) and gotten sick from. Oh D’uh? Life now is about common sense. Large crowds of questionably healthy people in a small area? Wear a mask. Going to the store, don’t worry about it. The Drs and coordinators have some conflicting stories and I pointed that out to her. She’s super nice and I will like her a lot, but her tune changed when we realized I had already talked to them, so it became “they will tell you…. But I’d prefer…..” Luckily I will again have ONE coordinator who I have 24 hour access to. There are doctors on call to me 24 hours a day also.

Later, brought the, also late, transplant pharmacist to go over my ever changing (changed less than 5 minutes prior to her walking in the door) medication list. I am taking a fairly light dose of meds which they think will continue to lighten. They are having a very hard time getting a handle on my Prograf (anti-rejection and pro-graphing med) so this one we know will change every single time I have blood work. It’s been changing daily here at the hospital. The also had to add a salt pill to my diet as I’m not getting enough salt intake. Usually a post transplant no-no.

So the Diet info went out the window for me. Though I am having no trouble putting weight back on after surgery and only lost 5# while I was “down and out”. Blah. Sucky. I was so hoping for that 40# other people have bragged of. Hopefully the walking will do it. ;-)

Tomorrow home to the trailer and Bill will be here for a few day visit. He’s been holding down my job at home and will go back to his regular job Thanksgiving week. I’m hoping to be home home the 3rd week of Dec. That’s when the appointments here drop to one a week and I don’t see any reason to stay here for that.

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Update Oct 2011

So I said I would update when there was news to report and basically all there has been for the last few months was wait and update tests to keep the results current.

I was in SF yesterday and now have some news.

One of the tid bits of the summer was finding that my regular pulminologist (Dr Blue Eyes, if you've been reading here a while) was leaving the hospital where I had been seeing him. While I was bummed to lose him as my reg. Dr I found he was leaving to head up the transplant unit at UCSF. YEAH! I really wasn't losing him at all.

As he said yesterday, "How does it feel to be a VIP? You're Dr is now in charge."

"Hum, like something might get done."

So I ratted myself out about the IV round I had just done, seeing as I was told prior if I was on any IV antibiotics that they would suspend my listing, which is true, of someone who doesn't have CF and chronic infection that HAS to be managed. I double checked with my new reg doc and asked them what they thought, and they all felt that someone had dropped the informational ball and that rule shouldn't apply to someone with CF, but maybe I should wait to say anything until it was over and Doc was there. They were correct.

Doc assured me that any antibiotic use for me was FINE. Please tell them from now on, and there would be NO more confusion in relation to CF patients. He was mostly unhappy because they should/could have adjusted my allocation (place in line for lungs) number up based on the IV useage. However, he was more concerned about how low my allocation number was considering my oddball antibodies and general 02 needs.

We had traveled down the night before my appointments, so at the time of my appointment I was at my worst possible shape, without being totally sick. I was due for my medication and hadn't slept worth a piss. Anyone who's traveled with me knows I don't sleep well anytime I'm away from home, it takes me days to settle in.

He asked me to do a little walk up and down the hall, which I totally bombed. Even with 6 liters of 02 my oxygen level dropped to 81 and my heart rate was SKY high. He ordered a quick spirometry test which tests the volume of my lungs. I also bombed. Dr told me I was welcome to take the test at home and to feel free to um, fail miserably. *blink blink, wink wink* IE Don't go in jacked up on all your meds, don't try to impress me. The only adjustments they can make to my score at this point is based on Volume and Oxygen need. Bombing yesterday was ideal.

So the outcome at this point is: my 02 levels are to be 2/4/6 liters. 2 while at rest watching tv/read a book/on the puter. 4 if I'm doing any walking around/going to the bathroom/cooking dinner (silly man, I don't cook). 6 if I am under any physical exertion at all. AT ALL. He said, I KNOW you aren't going to do this, but this is my recommendation and you "should" *blink blink wink wink* tell me that you are following it.

Got it. No problem. Noted.

My volume was down another 2%, taking me to 20%. Basically where I was a year ago.

I do not know what the CAT scan looked like, probably crap and scar tissue.

Doc was SHOCKED to see my echo was normal and my EKG was normal too. With my normally high heart rate (over 109 per min), and the added heart rate due to the low 02 (running at an average of 119-125) he really expected hypertension but there was almost NONE. There is some. We've known that for 3 years. Totally normal and within the reversible ranges.

He listened to my lungs and restated it's clear why I was mistreated (even he knows how mean ya'll are to me..hahaha) for so long. My lungs sound TOTALLY clear. There was one little area of my lower left lung (the area that bleeds all the time) that crackled, some.

He said: He wants me on the top of the list for the next 6 months. Period. (Um, and after that, what then? I didn't ask.) He wants EVERY lung offered to me so we can cross match antibodies. We are still looking at only 2 out of 10 lungs being a match for me.

He basically wants this ball rolling NOW. It's been too long and we've been milking this along for too long, really pushing our luck. He's been saying that for the last year while he wasn't at UCSF, "what IS their hold up?" Now he gets a chance to find out.

It's all looking good. Really. I know it sounds bad and awful and icky, but it's all leading toward NEW LUNGS. And maybe my friggin life back!

Of course it means maybe winter in SF. Ummm EWWW.

Oh, and on the way to Stanford for my friends sons' appointment (which is why we had a two day trip rather than our usual one day) we passed the turn to the town where we will be parking our trailer for the 6 weeks of post care. REALLY easy. Super easy and practically a straight shot. Pulling the trailers and motor home through will only be slightly challenging for part of the trip, mostly because of traffic and narrow lanes. No hard maneuvers to make on the SF end at all. Was good to know and see mostly all for myself. Makes one less thing for me to stew over and worry about in the hospital.

The Writing Prompt

So I am not a writer by any means. Odd since I loved to write in school, but I like to write from the places created in my mind, this was surprisingly hard.

You Can find the prompt here: The Writing Prompt

My Friends do it better:

Zube

Amy

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I am from the little white house with the green trim, from Folgers coffee and huge pots of beef stroganoff.

I am from the covered front porch, wood stoves, boiling hot in the summer and perfect in the winter, good ghosts and tons of kids.

I am from 2 palm trees and the damn nasturtiums.

I am from Christmas’s on new years and fiery tempers, from Sturgis’ and Jacobs, Granny’s, Nana’s and Aunties.

I am from the long living and long winded.

From measure twice and cut once and be good or I’ll know before you’re home.

I am from the Catholic and the Lutheran, from believing in God without walls, or all the kneeling.

I'm from the foggy little cow town, from homemade cinnamon rolls and lemon meringue pie.

From the man flatfooted man who yearned to be a soldier, a trucker, a carpenter, a housewife, an inn keeper, and the woman who could do it all.

I am from my memories and a plaid covered book, from notes in a bible, from boxes filled with everything ever created in school, hand-me-downs, and an old cedar chest.

Facebook has caused me to seriously neglect my blog. I can one liner update over there and 90% of my 5 person reader base is over there anyway.

However I should probably update to say I did.

So the last big (evasive for me) test is finally CORRECTLY on the books for the end of Oct. At the same time I will meet with the surgeons who may or may not perform the surgery on me. I think I will go ahead and list at the beginning of Dec. My lung function is no better... though not worse either... than when they gave me a year to live in '08. I was considering that this week. That almost two exact years ago, my doctors were sure I wouldn't make it home ever again, let alone live through the year without a transplant. Chuckles on them. I did tell him, he didn't know me very well yet and he may want to reconsider his statement. Teach him not to listen.

However, things are what they are, and I will have to make this choice at some point. Might as well do it now. *insert eye rolling here* I'm not thrilled. Trust me.

So another thing had me chuckling this week as I was correcting G's homework. His teacher (not seriously) said to me when we turned in his sample work, "Didn't you know correcting in Red will bruise his fragile ego." I remember hearing this when he was still in public school too, so it's not a "homeschool/hippy dippy notion". If his ego is that fragile, red ink is the least of his worries. I swear if she'd been serious I might have gone a bought a BIGGER red pen. ;-)

I correct everything in red. It's easy for both of us to spot. I correct pages and pages in workbooks. Ohh suck on this one.. I only give 1/2 credit for his corrected math problems too. *Gasp* ...And I calculate letter/percent grades. (On the computer, in a spreadsheet, because, YES, I am that anal.)

Now your wondering how his grades are huh? Straight B's. I'm a really tough teacher. I might not ride him very hard about sitting down and doing X amount of work a day, but I do expect what he does to be done correctly, the first time. Which is why I have the spreadsheets. I can see if "failing" is the leading trend and we can make whatever adjustments we need.

I will be extremely glad when algebra is over. Just saying.

Off to start writing all the How to, What to do, Who to call, How to take care of, and What to do if... lists that my family will need for the surgery time.

the TACK BOX

I just finished refinishing my tack box my dad made me when I was showing cows, some 20+ years ago.

True to my dads nature, this isn't just a "tack box", this is A TACK BOX. 4 foot long, 3 foot deep, 2.5 feet tall, made out of 1" oak plywood with a 3/4" thick oak top. Literally almost too heavy to pick up empty, let alone filled with tack. It's served many uses during it's 20+ years with me. It used to get hauled to the fair filled with cow stuff. It's housed my horse tack at rented stables. It's stored blankets for beds. But for the last 10 years it has been a toy box. A totally packed to the top, toy box.

With the recent de-cluttering of G's room, or rather the mass shoveling out and throwing away, the TACK BOX lost it's usefulness in G's room. He didn't keep any toys, thus none to store. We needed to make room for a dresser that he may or may not use. So what to do with the TACK BOX?

My mom offered to keep it at her house, but the TACK BOX has never seen a day outside in it's life. Like my moms chopping block and my twin bed (that takes 3 men and a boy to move), these are rare treasures made by my dad that he just doesn't do anymore, or I don't think ever.

So in case the TACK BOX must see outside time somewhere I decided it needed to be sealed and preserved. So I have been rubbing Tung Oil into the oak top, and Thompson's water seal on the sides and, when I can turn it over, the bottom. At least this way, G will have it to fill with toys again someday, because this damn TOY BOX will last forever!

Easter Cancelled

On account of the snow.

We made it out to my moms in the rain and wind. I don't mind the rain and the wind, we could have sat at home in it, or at her house... didn't matter.

15 minutes after getting there the rain turned white and started to stick. We watched it for about 15 min before we decided it wasn't going to let up and Bunker Hill was going to become an unpassable bitch quick.

We left her house and made it to Bunker and there was already over 3" of snow sitting in Russ' driveway. It was an easy drive, just slow going, thankful for 4x4 because it was slick-slick.

Passed uncountable idiots headed out to "play" in the snow. Ranchers love that. /sarcasm.

Bridgette wanted the window down. She pulled her head in and she was covered in snow. It was pretty funny!

First, my IV went fine thank you, but between it and it's time schedule, milking, feeding, and working, there was no time for blogging.

So lets re-cap since it's been since Feb since I was here last.

The kid count was bucks-11 and does-6 out of 13 does. Not great, but totally managable.

I was down to my last week of IV and my first week back to work after some IV time off. I'm really glad I scheduled work around this thing because it made me feel like CRAP. But the infection seems better, which was the goal. It's all about the end result yanno?

In the middle of January the breeder we got out first toggs from contacted us because she was selling out and wanted to know if we wanted any does. We said yes and took in two plus a buck. The does were thin when they got here, and probably bred, but the looked a little thin and not up close to kidding. Since when we bought them and the buck, and we were the ones to remove the buck, they could have been due anywhere from NOW to June. So by looking at them, they looked healthy but at least a few months out if bred at all.

Fast forward to the 4th of March when one of these does started to favor a front leg. It was late, pouring rain, and getting dark so I vowed to pull her in the next morning and check it out. The next morning she's down by the fence and really weak. We haul her inside, dig into her feet, which looked fine, and pen her up inside thinking she's being bullied out of the feed, though she looks OK. We start her on all sort of appetite inducing drugs, probiotics, and some antibiotics to be safe. On the 5th at night milking, about dusk, we get out to the goats and hear this noise. Something like a rat caught in a trap. It's hideous and nothing a goat should make. Greg finds his alpine kid stuck in a fence and we think all is right in the world. I walk into the barn and hear this NOISE again. It's trapped, it's dying and I can't FIND IT. I start walking toward the noise and see the penned goat (Mehaw) standing over a baby (WHAT!), it's dry, it is NOT making THAT NOISE. Over in the far far corner is a flat brown blob. I think dead kid. No, no, IT'S MAKING THAT NOISE! I holler for Greg, he comes, picks up o' flat one, shakes it a few times, and puts it with mom. She's interested, but you can tell she's concentrating on not falling over. We walk her up to, and lift her onto the milk stand and try to coax her to just eat a little grain. Nada. So on the way back to her pen, we've boxed up the babies to take home, we see what looks like a foot..... I say to Greg and he says to me "Is that a foot?" We think it was testing the temperature... nope to cold, I'll come later.....

So Greg just decides to pull this baby, mom is tired and obviously beyond done. She was thin before twins, we're scared shitless to see what she'd look like after triplets. Now we have a bag of bone with a hide thrown over, who had triplets. She's stressed. She we grab her little friend she came with for some company and hopefully a little encouragement.

The next morning she looks like she might have eaten, we keep up with the probiotics and keep bringing her in for grain. She has just about no milk, but really I wasn't expecting any, so a little was encouraging. Her little friend looks suspiciously like she might be making an udder. A few weeks I hope before she'd kid. I should have known my luck doesn't run like that.

We finally brave sexing the kids Mehaw had..... triplet does. The flat one, we call her the little Weetard, is a trooper and the first one on her feet. All three and very weak in the back ends and take a full day and half to stand alone.

On the evening of the 8th (Sunday) we go out to milk and find the little friend with twin bucks. Mehaw has stolen them and is feeding one, with her head in the feeder eating. Whatever makes her happy! We opt to just leave them there with the moms, for one, Mehaw is the strongest we've seen her in a week, and she's now plowing through the grain we offer her, for two, I work the next two days back to back long days, and two less bottle babies won't hurt my feelings, and three, bucks... BOO!

Monday morning the 9th we go out to milk and for the first milking in a while, find no kids! Only my best doe is looking CLOSE. She's not eating and she's hanging off by herself. Not things she does normally. She NEVER misses a meal. I warn Bill, who is going to milk for me while I'm at work, that he will likely find babies from Star when he gets there, and to look for them, she will probably hide them. At 4pm I get a picture text. It's taken from our gate. Way at the top of the hill you can see a couple specks.. the text says "fucking star had her babies all the way at the top of the hill." I get text after text for the next hour, with phone calls mixed in.... what to do, how to do it.... "Star had twins" "Oh no, there are two more that she's not taking care of" "Wait, she's running back and forth between them" "How do I get them off the hill?" "She doesn't want me to take them what do I do" "Two bucks two does" "I'll leave the bucks with her" "No, wait, no bucks I'm just bringing them all home" So Star- quad does. I don't see them until after work, and one is the tiniest thing I have ever seen. She's not even as big as my mini dachshund. She's perfectly formed, but her little hooves are the size of dimes. The biggest is a BIG kid, normal twin size, about 8-9lbs. The middle two look like normal quad kid size, probably 5-6lbs. One black, 3 brown.

The next night, Tuesday, after a hellish day; which included, but not limited to, waking up to my son lying on the bathroom floor curled in a ball crying, calling my husband home from work to help me with my job, and testing 700 cows, we finally make it out to milk, at like 9PM. It's dark, it's POURING rain, it's cold as hell, and we pull up to a mass of goats at the upper sheds. I know somethings up, I can tell by the look on their guilty little faces. Either they are kidding, eating something they shouldn't be, or breaking something.

Turns out the last two toggs were kidding. Nothing eventful here, unless you count Bill trying to catch the 2 year old and falling on his ass, which was rather friggin' funny......

Jade- twins buck/doe

Hope- twins buck/doe

So lets recap again shall we.

In four days we had:

Mehaw- trip does

Eregon- twin bucks

Star- quad does

Jade- twins buck/doe

Hope- twins buck/doe

Yes that is 13 kids in 4 days. 9 of which are does. All of which are toggs. We went from only 3 togg does up to this point, to 12. Thanks girls for evening the odds... all at once. Holy HELL.

We have one doe we KNOW is left to kid. She was due yesterday, she will kid this weekend, which means she too will kid while I'm at work next week, she's just a bitch like that. Yes Sarah, that one!

I sent one milker home with Lori today. I have a call in to the dairy to make a run up there tomorrow, but they are horrible at returning calls. Actually if they wait a little bit maybe Mehaws little friend will feel better because she can totally go, there is nothing impressive about her except her size, and I'll keep Mehaw for that. I have a group of yearling milkers to take, none impressive but all milking, and I think my reserve champ milking yearling (kind of unheard of win for a yearling milker) from last year shall go, I'm just not impressed with her either this year.

Well that's all for now, if you don't hear from me again for a while, you'll know I drown in goat milk. Or the babies ate me.