March 13th I had a final follow up appointment with my OB that didn't go nearly as well as I had hoped. A lot of the issues I wanted to discuss we didn't get to, because of two more pressing issues:

• A screaming Libby
• My still unreasonably high blood pressure

The preeclampsia had still not resolved itself completely. Crap.

I am a total freak of nature. Not only did I develop this condition AFTER delivery, but after 4 months, it's still an issue. A month ago I was doing so well on medication that Dr. Swizzle Stick decided I should be fine without it. Not so, as it turns out. And again I say, Crap.

I asked about my chances for having preeclampsia again. The standard chance is 1 in 3, my chance, given my BMI and family history of the condition, is about the same as the chances of being hit by a car if one plays in traffic all day. Crap indeed.

This brought us around to a discussion of my weight. I am not grossly overweight, but I have definitely gotten heavier in the past two years, and it has affected my health. There is no denying that a significant weight loss would probably help this situation considerably.

So the determination: back onto medication, and a weight loss plan. With the not so subtle hint that I should pursue these options with my general practitioner. As in didn't refill my BP medication, and said she'd see my for my next pap or pregnancy. This, in case you couldn't tell, is what's known as "Le Grande Brush-Off."

So I made an appointment with the newest Dr. at the practice we use. Let's call her Dr. Dandy because dandy is just what she was. She is a woman on a mission, and that mission is to get me back on track, and oh, blessed Dr-patient transference, I love her for it already.

She was terribly concerned about the quality and quantity of rest I'm getting, and how I'm taking care of myself. Terribly. Concerned. She didn't like the level of stress I'm under, and suggested that I find a polite way to tell a few folks to buzz off, and set some boundaries (so if you've been griping at me because you don't like our particular brand of attachment parenting, drop dead). Rx: less grief, more sleep, more help, more me time. Me: floored.

As for my blood pressure, it was a bit lower than it had been previously, and she took this as a good sign. Rather than medicate me again and risk dropping it too low, she suggested I modify my diet further, and monitor much more regularly. Rx: Lower salt, no more sodas period. Me: meh.

She applauded my weight loss and told me to keep up the good work. I have already reached my pre-baby weight, and I had lost 3 pounds since I had last been in their office on the 7th of March. Kudos to me.

She fussed over my aching back and shoulders, and wrote me a prescription for enough Flexeril to choke a horse. Like, three a day. Yeah, dude, whoa.

So with all that, a general physical, and bloodwork, she sent me on my way with orders to return in a month to check on my progress. I have to say I'm pleased and feeling much more optimistic. Or it could just be the Flexeril.