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October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

Last year on this day, I remember reading some pregnancy loss blogs, thinking how heartbreaking it would be to lose a baby.  I even thought, “that could be us,” which I think is probably good, because it could be ANYONE.  Fifteen percent of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth.  That’s a lot of heartache.

But still, when we found ourselves pregnant in December 2008, we felt unadulterated joy, not worry about loss statistics.  And when we hit the 12-week point, with two healthy ultrasounds, we rejoiced, again.  We felt so blessed.

And obviously, our story is not unique, and it is by no means the most heartbreaking story.  We were barely out of the first trimester when we went in for another routine appointment and the refreshing thump, thump, thump on the doppler was gone.  When the nursing student said, cheerfully, “oh, sometimes when they’re so little, they get away from you!” I smiled, weakly, but I thought, “Please, God, please, no.  Please have our baby be alive.”  But they rolled in the pathetic little ultrasound machine, and pulled up an image of our lifeless baby, swishing from side to side because of the ultrasound probe pressing against my stomach.

I did not know what it would feel like to lose a child, but in that moment, I joined the initiated.

Of course, our story did not end there, and most of it is in this blog, preserved for others who may have to go through it.  The genetic testing on the baby and the placenta showed that our pregnancy was not a normal pregnancy; it was a partial molar pregnancy, which carried a risk of cancer for me.  And though that sounds absolutely horrible, I will be honest and say that it is a mixed blessing:  on one hand, we knew that it was nothing *we* did that caused the baby’s demise (I included my husband in there), but that the baby was not viable.  On the other, we were required to wait for months to try to get pregnant again, and in the interim, I had to take weekly hCG tests to ensure that the placenta didn’t regrow like a tumor.  Every week, the tech would say, “another pregnancy test?” and every week, I’d say, “yep…” as though I were the crazy chick who needed weekly confirmations of my gestational status.

And I will be even more honest, and say that those months were some of the worst in my life, and some of the worst in our marriage.  The grief was palpable, and augmented by the fact that I had at least 5 friends due within 3 weeks of our due date in September 2009.  I withdrew from friends, and I withdrew from this blog.  I stopped asking about pregnancies.

Post-partum depression after miscarriage is very, very real, and very, very, debilitating.

He would be one month old today, had he only had the right number of chromosomes.  Our lives would be very, very different.

I say all of this not to be depressing, but to be honest.  I don’t think anyone realizes what it’s like to go through a miscarriage until they have been through it themselves.  It is difficult to know what to say, and words come out wrong.

So, in honor of today, I would like to share some thoughts about what to do, and what NOT to do, if you have a friend going through a miscarriage (and possibly infant loss, but I am not going to pretend I have any idea about that pain):

1)  Do send an email, a card, fruit, food, gifts.  If someone is very good at gardening, you might consider sending a plant, but if the person does not have a green thumb, consider that it might be additionally painful to give a plant in remembrance, only to have it die soon after.

2)  Do not say the following things:  “It’s probably better – you don’t want to raise a child with difficulties,” “You’re young, you can always have another,” or “Get over it”, or “It happens“.  All of these things were said to me, multiple times.  None of them helped, and in fact, most of them made it much, much worse.

3)  Do allow the person to talk about the baby, their pregnancy, or their due date.  Do share your own story of loss.

4)  Do acknowledge the person’s due date, even by saying, “I know how hard this time is for you, and I’m thinking/praying for you”.  That means more than anything else.

5)  Do not complain about:  not being able to drink alcoholic drinks while pregnant, not being able to sleep, vomiting due to pregnancy, lack of sleep in the first few months of having a baby home, being tired, having breastmilk problems, hurting because a baby is kicking you in the ribs, or being sick of maternity clothes to someone who has had a recent loss.  This is not to diminish the trauma of those things (well, except the drinking while pregnant.  Never complain about not being able to drink while pregnant.  Sorry, I am going to sound like a judgmental jerk for this, but you are pregnant, and this is your obligation to your baby.  No drinking.  No cigarettes.  Tough luck.  They will still be around in 8 months).  Sleepless nights, vomiting multiple times a day – those are tangible, and horrible, and stressful.  No question.  However, a person who has just lost a baby would probably give anything for the nausea, for the sleeplessness, for the inconveniences posed by the process of having a child.

6)  Do be honest about your pregnancies.  Do not leave a grieving friend in the dark in order to protect them.  It will simply hurt their feelings more than had they known about the pregnancy in the first place.

7)  Do offer to pray for someone.  Do offer to help in concrete, specific ways.  Do not say, “please let me know what I can do to help” because although that sounds wonderful, chances are, the person is in so much grief that she cannot identify what it is that she needs help with.

Today, on this day, we remember.  Please take a moment to reach out to those around you who have had a loss, and even join the campaign to light a candle at 7:00 tonight.

Blessings to all of you.

P.S.  I get a lot of emails asking about our progress, so just to update and leave this on a brighter note, we were cleared to try to conceive – meaning, I never developed cancer or regrowth – in August 2009, and I took the MCAT to try to get into medical school (which is funny in and of itself) in September 2009.  Right now we are waiting, praying, and asking the Lord to show us what He has planned for us and our family.

So…the end of the weekend.  I spent almost every moment of it studying or sleeping.  It wasn’t all that fun.

Tonight there was a review session for the bio exam.  I usually hate it when people say things like this, but I am going to say it – this test is on what seems to be an insane amount of material.  It is covering big topics, in a *lot* of detail, and some of the topics have absolutely NOTHING to do with each other.  See:  immune system, and hormones (ok, those are similar enough), and kidneys and not being cold or hot (ok, those are close enough), and…evolution.  (Huh?) And then back to…embryos.  Specifically, like, fertilization and the first oh, say, 10 cell divisions of an embryo (zygote).  In humans, birds, frogs, and…sea urchins.  Yeah, sea urchins.  So vitally important to know how *they* start out.

But in any case, so we get to learn about sperm and eggs and how they find each other and set up shop.  Great.  Well, one of the (many) things we need to know about is what is called the “fast block” to polyspermy (mulitple sperm going into the egg) (ie, preventing that from happening) and the “slow block” to polyspermy.  The fast block is something that sea urchins have, because their eggs are floating everywhere and surrounded by sperm everywhere and they need to be sure to only have one sperm get in that egg, right?  And the slow block is something that *everyone* – mammals, sea urchins, frogs, you, me…has.  (The fast block happens…faster…than the slow block.  As the name might imply.)

See where I’m going with this?

So I have learned all of the blocking polyspermy stuff.  I feel rather up-to-speed on these things, if only because hey – it is relevant to me (see previous post re: toaster magic, and peeing), and it was interesting.  It came up today in the review.

Volunteer former student running the review session: “So the fast block is… and the slow block is… and they are in all animals”.

Dude in the class:  “Wait, I thought the fast block wasn’t in mammals?”

Volunteer dude running session: “It isn’t? [Fumble.]  Hmm…”

Another dude in the class:  “So few sperm get to the mammal egg that they don’t NEED the fast block…by the time you need to block the sperm, the slow block is in place.”

(Me…thinking about how I WISHED mammals had a fast block and a slow block.)

(Some ensuing discussion about whether mammals had fast blocks or not, and why polyspermy is a Bad Thing.)

Someone in the room: “Because what a MESS it would be if there were more than one sperm in the egg!!”

Everyone…laughs.  All I was thinking was, “It’s not that funny when it actually happens…”  I was just short of breaking down, thinking about what a MESS our kid was.

A mess.

Yes, that’s exactly how I think of him.  A mess.

Anyway, part of me thinks I am being too sensitive.  (A big part.)  But the other part?  Wishes that mammals really DID evolve with both the fast block and slow block, because then I bet we wouldn’t have had the eager-beaver sperm problem.  Damn sperm.

Damn ineffective slow block.

And…back to studying.  Some more.

…today it is going to happen.


(for the record, I have two songs that are running through my head like a soundtrack for my life in the last month:

When you’re going through hell, keep on going (Rodney Atkins)


Bring the Rain – Mercy Me

(I did not say they were impressive.)

(If you click on the links, it pulls up a YouTube video – just a warning for those reading in an office cube…)

I will say that last night was a Rodney night, and this morning is a Mercy Me morning.

“Bring me joy, bring me peace, bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings you glory
And I know there will be days when this life brings me pain, but if that’s what it takes to praise You…Jesus bring the rain.”

Or, as Maya Angelou says,

Still I Rise.

(It was a bad night last night emotionally and academically.)

(I had half a beer over physics homework, which made it – the night/homework/life – somewhat better.)

(It was my first beer in 6 months, and I normally have the tolerance of a flea.)

(And now, I am going to study…I need all the encouragement I can get in this arena.)


(p.s.  also, we have doctor’s appointment this morning.)

(also, a blog I have on my reader published this very sad story about a homeless woman in Kyrgyzstan.  it made the morning more of the mercy me morning vs. a rodney morning.)

(wow, do we live in a broken world.  Lord?)

(that’s all i have to say about that.)

I realized that I really never explained what on Earth this type of pregnancy is.  I don’t even know if anyone *wants* to know, but I figured I’d explain it and provide a few links, just to clarify.  (We have spent hours scouring the web for information about it, and it is, frankly, really hard to come by.  There is no way around this:  this is a fairly rare pregnancy outcome.)

So this pregnancy was a partial molar pregnancy, or a partial hydatidiform molar pregnancy.  There are two types of molar pregnancies:  complete moles, and partial moles.  In the complete mole, there is no genetic information in the egg, and the sperm fertilizes it and makes a copy of its own genetic material, so there are 46 chromosomes, but they are all from Mr. Swimmer.  That type of pregnancy develops into a massive placenta that looks like a snowstorm on an ultrasound, and there is no baby or fetus present.

In a partial molar pregnancy, the egg has genetic material, but for some reason, the egg never signals to the other sperm that it has been fertilized, so two sperm (eagerly?) fertilize the egg.  (This is thought to be an egg dysfunction.  I thought I’d spell it out for you.  Yes, that would be *MY* egg dysfunction.  You cannot find that anywhere in the medical literature.  I had to ask my doctor, who has devoted his life to this issue, to clarify that for me.)  The fetus then has 69 chromosomes (triploidy), rather than the normal 46 (or liveable, but not typical, 47).  Having 69 chromosomes is absolutely fatal.  There are cases where a baby has survived with 69 chromosomes, but s/he typically does not live very long.

In a lot of the literature online, it says that there is no heartbeat present for a PMP.  I don’t know how accurate that is.  We saw a healthy, strong heartbeat twice on ultrasound and made it to the second trimester with what we thought was a healthy, normal-looking baby.  By the time we had found out there was no heartbeat, I do not know if the baby looked abnormal (it looked like a dead baby to me, but then again, I am not really looking at lots of ultrasound pictures of alive or dead babies these days).  I know that the placenta, by THAT time, looked abnormally large.  That was what our doctor told us was suggestive of a molar pregnancy – that the placenta looked strange (I don’t know if she was just sparing us the misery of knowing our baby was odd, too, is what I’m saying.  Does that make sense?).

So the symptoms of a molar pregnancy include abnormally high hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels, which come with more intense nausea/vomiting, early expansion of the uterus (so one looks further along than one actually is), ovarian cysts (there are typical pregnancy ovarian cysts that support a healthy pregnancy, and there are cysts that are not normal from high serum hCG), and some other symptoms that I didn’t experience whatsoever, like bleeding.  If you read through some of my earlier posts about “popping”, and the daily puking update, you will see that early on, I had some of these symptoms – but I had no idea that they meant my baby wasn’t right.  Plus, I have lots of friends who are also very nauseated in pregnancy – I thought that it was normal to throw up multiple times a day.  (And their babies are alive and healthy now!)

The cancer issue:  what on Earth am I talking about?  Well, a molar pregnancy is a form of gestational trophoblastic disease (GTD).  Because the placenta is this strange mix of chromosomes, it really buries itself into the uterus.  Molar pregnancies are almost always evacuated by a D&C (dilation and curettage).  Most of the time that tissue is evacuated entirely, but sometimes it isn’t, and the placenta material left behind can act like a tumor.  It continues to produce hCG, and if it is left unchecked, it can metastasize to the lungs (most common), GI system, or brain.  So although all women who have a D&C generally have a quantitative hCG test to ensure that there is no residual tissue left behind (I hate the term “products of conception”, but in this case, that’s really what it is), for molar pregnancies, women must have weekly hCG tests to ensure that their hormone levels are going down.  If the hCG levels go up or plateau (less than a 10% change from week to week), they either have a second D&C or start chemotherapy to prevent the tissue from metastasizing.

The goal is to have zero hCG, which is defined by a score of <5 or <2, depending on the lab.  (For me, it is less than 5.)  Once I have three weeks where I have zero consecutively, I switch to monthly blood draws, and then after three months of zero hCG on THAT, we can consider trying to conceive.  That decision is on hold and I probably won’t blog about that here.

There are a lot of things that say that a couple cannot TTC until the woman is clear for 6 months, or 12 months.  Those are dated statistics, and better research indicates that three months is a safe amount of time for a woman to wait to conceive.

The reason one NEEDS to wait is because in pregnancy, the hCG levels in a woman’s blood begin to double from the moment of (implantation?) – so all of a sudden, hCG levels rise.  At that point, it is impossible to tell if she is fighting cancer or growing a baby, and the woman’s health is at risk.  Although this is a very treatable (approaching 100%) cancer, it is not so treatable if one is also trying to support a baby.

So essentially, this sucks.  🙂  Can I say that?  This is kind of like a double whammy – we made it through the first trimester, then lost the baby, then lost a lot of blood, then lost a lot of time, and now we’re waiting to be sure that I don’t have uterine cancer.  Talk about getting more than we bargained for.  Last week, I was quite certain that I would have to have chemo, because my hormone levels were so very high.  This week, in the greatest news of the last month, they look to be about where we could expect a normal post-D&C PMP to be.  THAT is a huge blessing for so many reasons – not only the cancer, but also because having high hCG levels means that one also has lots of pregnancy symptoms.  It is such a painful reminder of what once was, to have heartburn, to be throwing up, to be craving something, totally constipated, or waking up totally congested.  You know, the joys of the first trimester…sans baby.  It’s been a month since the D&C, and I can honestly tell you that I have only had about 5 days without a lot of those symptoms.  That is really emotionally painful.

So if you are wondering how to pray, well, we are just praying that God opens a door somewhere, and we are praying to feel at peace with all of this.  I usually don’t pray for THINGS, but these days, I am also praying that the levels go down, and go down quickly.  So far, so good 🙂  but I want to also say that if the levels had gone UP, I wouldn’t be questioning whether God was listening or not.

Sometimes that is a tricky line to walk.

Here are two articles on line that are also good sources of information:

And just to clarify – this was a freak thing, although we have a higher chance of having another molar pregnancy given this one (originally it is 1/1000 pregnancies; now we have a 1% chance of having a second).  However, it doesn’t make it any easier.  To us, this was a baby, and it was a loss, and this additional anxiety is like rubbing salt onto a wound.  Although it is true that my antibodies did not kill the baby – and for that I am really, honestly, relieved – we have enough else going on that really, that reality is diminished.  Perhaps I will be more appreciative of the randomness of this…later.

I am intentionally unpasswording this.  I will be changing the PW for this blog after this.  If you’ve never commented before, and still want the PW, now is the time to make yourself known.  (If you are a regular commenter, don’t worry about it – I will email you directly.  You don’t need to come up with something here to get the PW!  :))

For those who might come here because they also have a molar pregnancy, feel free to email me.

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I am really not supposed to be blogging right now, but usually if I blog, I am able to focus on what I am supposed to be doing shortly thereafter.  So here it goes.

My thoughts on God right now.

(If you are looking for articulate, holy thoughts on God during extreme pain and loss, I would forward you, immediately, to Angie Smith’s blog, Bring the Rain.  I have been reading Angie’s blog for months, prior to ever even becoming pregnant.  You will be blessed by reading her blog.  She is an incredible writer and an incredible believer and if I could write the way she writes about my own walk and faith, I would be, like, ecstatic.)

(I am saying that because you are probably going to be undewhelmed by what I am about to write.)

This is not very honorable, or admirable, but it is going to be honest.

I shared with you all our path to becoming pregnant.  I meant to password it on Wednesday, March 4th, but then I decided, once we learned our baby had died, that perhaps it would help you understand why this loss was just so painful for us.

I mean, if you read that far back, of course.

I am now going to share a little bit more.

I am embarrassed to say that when I hit the 12-week-pregnant mark, I began to get comfortable.  I posted things about baby names and such.  I even bought a maternity shirt (actually, 2) – because my stomach really could not accommodate anything I owned (starting at 10 weeks, but I resisted until 12).

Until that point, I held off getting too close to the baby (even though I was attached, despite my best efforts to keep my emotions in check) because I *knew* the risks.  I *knew* we had a risk of miscarrying.

But then, at 12 weeks, I settled in.

Because in my head, God and I had a deal.  (I told you I would not be impressive here.)  I mean, I wrote things about the possibility that the baby might not be okay – but in my head – my stupid, stupid, head, God and I – we had struck a deal.

I know, I know, who the hell am I to make a deal with God?

But we had a deal.  In my head, I had prayed and prayed – for two years! I had prayed – and I realize that two years is really not that long to God, but it is a long time to measly little me – “God, we really want to build our family.  Please please open the doors you want open, and close the doors you want to close”.

So when my hematocrit was high, I didn’t have multiple sclerosis or CNS lupus, we were facing a pay raise for DB in March, and everything – EVERYTHING – was falling into place, we decided God was opening a door.

And then, as I said in that post, we prayed for a baby if God wanted to grant us a biological child.

As I said in that post, we told God that we were open to HOWEVER it was that He wanted us to grow our family.  If God showed us a purple two-headed child, we would have adopted that child and advocated for that child and raised him/her to the very best of our weak, human abilities.

And, as I said in that post, God (miraculously) answered us.  We got pregnant.

And oh, my goodness, how we rejoiced.  Finally – a door open.  Finally – an answered prayer.

And, as I said in that post, I have no idea why God chooses to answer some prayers “yes”, some prayers, “no”, and some prayers, “later”.

I have no idea why He answered our prayer, “Here is a child, but s/he is only yours for 13 weeks.”

I have asked Him this every. single. day.  I do not understand.

See, I felt like we had a deal.  We were open to anything he wanted to throw at us.  In return, he should close some doors, or open others, or whatEVer – but to open a door, then slam it shut?  And take my blood along with it?


So I have really, really, really been struggling with God.  I know He knows what it is like to lose a child.  Obviously He knows.  I know He knows our pain.  I know He is crying with us.  I know He is all-powerful and He created mountains and He created the world (I mean this in an scientific way – sorry, but I do not believe He did it in 7 days…maybe He did it in the equivalent of 7 God-days, but anyway) – He is GOD.  He is, like, the AUTHOR and PERFECTOR and EVERYTHING of our world.  Our UNIVERSE.

But why, why, why, WHY did He have to answer our prayer in this way?!?

I don’t know.

And I told DB that I am really struggling with this.  I mean, my faith in God has sustained me through a lot.  God hasn’t always answered my prayers in the way I’d like Him to.  (I think, on a very cerebral level, that if God always answers our prayers and gives us everything we want, in exactly the way we want it, and our faith never wavers, it must not be a very real faith.)  I have struggled, and I’ve cried, but I’ve never come to *this* depth in my relationship with Him.  And in “depth”, I mean, “this much questioning and this much doubting”.

Anyway, so I said to DB, “I just don’t understand why [get ready to roll your eyes] God DIDN’T HOLD UP HIS END OF THE BARGAIN.”

If there is ever a more prideful, sinful question than that, I would like to hear it.  Please.

And thankfully, I have a husband who does not look at me in horror when I ask things like that.

He said, “Isn’t it great that God doesn’t say that to us?”

And I teared up.

I mean, think about it.

If God acted like me, He would probably have thrown His hands in the air and say to His people, “I give up!  I gave you my SON, and you start wars, and you commit sin…after sin…after sin.  You throw it back in my face!”

“I”m through with you!”

But He doesn’t.

I don’t know much, but I know that.

I know how weird this might sound to you if you are not a believer.  I did not grow up Christian – I grew up (for the most part) Jewish.  (If you’d like to hear me babble about that, you are welcome to email me.)  And I am one of the most pathetic speakers of “Christianese” that I know.  You know, that kind of language that flows freely about God’s grace, and His love, and His power. Other people are really good at it.  I can forward some links if you’d like to read them.

But what I do know – and this is not Christianese – is that God is present in our lives, and God is still speaking, and although I am LOST – totally LOST – and grasping at strings, and praying for peace, and praying for direction, and wondering, really, WHAT this really means – that God still cares.

And even though I probably hardly ever hold up *my* end of the bargain, God is bigger than any “bargain” I could have thought I made with Him.

I am not that great at explaining my faith to other people.  I know a lot of you reading this are probably either thinking that I am insane (which, probably I am), or that I am a crappy Christian (see previous parenthetical expression) or that I am hurting (I definitely am).  But this – here – is where I am, spiritually.

I am pretty sure that God is still out there, crying with us.  And I really pray that He is not totally horrified that I thought *we* had a deal.

And I know that he is being the very best Father our child could ever have, to a child we love so very, very, very much.

“Be still, and know that I am God” – Psalm 46:10

P.S.  I do not know why I have two categories for this type of topic:  “God” and “Faith”.  What is the difference?

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Sometimes I’m okay.  I laugh.  We have people over.  We hang out.  I’m okay.

Then I’m not okay.  I cry – a lot.  Over things like no toner in the printer, or the dishes in the sink.  I’m waiting for the annoyance over the fact that we have no floor.  (No, we never got a floor.  It was SO IMPORTANT to me on Tuesday, March 3rd, that we find someone to help us install a floor over the very…classy plywood look of our subfloor.  I no longer care that our floor is a subfloor, or that GreatStuff oozes out of every crack in the subfloor (courtesy of DB, sometime during that week prior to Wednesday).)

I have an exam to take on Tuesday.  In biology.  Yes, undergrad bio.  I am taking it for pre-med requirements.

For my mental health, I cannot fail this exam.  At the rate I am going, I am going to not only fail it, I will be failing it in the sub-10% range (I will be clear:  I missed two weeks of class before taking Unisom/B6 for all-damn-day puking, and then did not catch up).  I cannot look at a piece of paper with bio information on it without bursting into tears.

For my mental health, I also cannot drop this class yet.  Not yet.  I cannot have failure characterize every. single. aspect. of my life yet.

I am also taking physics.  Our baby caused me to puke incessantly and totally fail the physics final for the fall semester, which meant I got a really bad grade in physics.  Which, honestly, I did not care about because I figured I would be a mother.  And there would be good, worthy, physical evidence of my 3 months of vomiting.

Except that evidence died.

So right now, no, I’m not doing okay.  I guess I am not being the person I really would like to be, which is someone who trusts God that He needed my baby more than I did, someone who is strong, someone who can move on past this and see hope and a future.  Someone who does not let hormones – and I will be the first to say hormones are totally effing with my head – HORMONES dictate my emotions, my hope, my faith.

Right now, I am having a really tough time finding HOPE and FAITH and it is killing me.  I normally love that verse in Hebrews – “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (11:1).

But right now, hope is escaping me.

But I have this other verse in my head, too:

“…in all these things we are more conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:37-39

And I just keep thinking that death…does not separate us from God’s love…

And then I think all sorts of things that are not very healthy and not very admirable and frankly should not be written here because oh, yeah, my ego cannot handle reading what I write when I am in the depths – depths! – of depression.

I loved this baby with everything I had, and more.  And I miss her – or him – it is killing me that I do not know whether the baby was a he or a she – I miss her so, so, so, so much.  I miss rubbing my hands on my stomach and thinking that in a week or two, I might be able to feel her kick.  I miss my dog rubbing his head on my stomach.  (No kidding.  It was odd.)

It is effing with my head to have the physical reminders of this pregnancy everywhere – I puked yesterday morning, and almost once a day, if not more.  My sinuses are still completely plugged (a lovely side effect of pregnancy that I didn’t know about until I experienced it).  My boobs are huge.  My waist is still expanded, to make room for something to grow inside.  Some days, I can go back to my pre-pregnancy showering routine (which is wasteful and totally indulgent – I absolutely love showers) and some days, like yesterday, I realize that the hormones are still pumping and I am about to puke with the heat of the shower.

The reminders are EVERYWHERE.

For those who asked, no, date night did not happen.  So sad.  I locked myself out of my house (wearing sweats, a massive sweatshirt, and Crocs) because I went to pick up a box of Girl Scout cookies from my porch.

So I’m sitting on my steps, eating Tagalongs, in 30* weather, (bleeding), thinking about really, how yesterday could have been better.

I had a friend heading in to visit anyway, so when she got to my place, we headed to Starbux to wait for DB to get home.

By the time he got home, I was  That S-bucks trip required more energy/effort than anything I have done in the last 9 days.

So we ordered Indian (like from India) food.

But it wasn’t that good.  Actually, it was really painfully hot because there was a mix-up.

And then I got a really upset stomach.

So basically, the night sucked, thanks for asking 🙂

Tonight we were going to try round 2, but we went for a walk – fresh air does a person good, right? – and I walked the equivalent of 1 NYC block (the street block, not the avenue – let’s be honest about my patheticness here) – and I could barely stand up.

So…we are having taco night, round 2, and renting a chick flick.  (If you have seen a good chick flick recently, and you are, like me, online at 8:00 on a Saturday night, shoot me a comment or something.)

I have no great summary sentence on this one.  I am just really struggling.  I have a post in my head about God, and pride, and I am debating whether to actually publish it, but maybe in a few days.  Or tomorrow.

I am tired.

Although writing this out made me feel better.  (Sorry if it was really depressing.)

Here, a snippet of how *we* dealt with the last week:

On Wednesday, after being told that our baby had died and we had to decide when (not ‘if’ – see previous post; baby was too large) to have the D&C, and I was still in shock, having previously (pre-conception) decided that I would *never* have a D&C, that my body was TOTALLY CAPABLE of doing *everything* naturally…yeah.

So anyway, none of that is remotely funny and it is, in fact, very sad.

But ho, see this subsequent conversation:

NP: So you’ll give me a call today to let me know what you decide about the D&C tomorrow?

Me: Yes.

NP: OK.  And [verifying some contact information] is – [DB] – that is….[looking pointedly at the man sitting next to me] – [faltering] – um…you?

Me, just answering the question:  Yes.

DB, who is funny even when sad:  Wow, now THAT would be awkward, wouldn’t it? [If he was not, in fact, the man listed on my hospital information]

And thankfully, thankfully, we all laughed.

How’s THAT for anti-climactic?

I guess they walked this week, or last week.  I got an email saying that I could pick up my diploma now, and I know it wasn’t available until after the ceremony…

I actually did not want to walk, but DB thought after the hell of the last (X) years, I should – apparently we settled that one.

It happened without my knowledge.

(If this was really important to me, I could walk in June, but – surprise – it is not.  Important, I mean.  It wasn’t important to me before, and it is *really* not important to me now.)

In other news, the dog is pooping regularly (phew), I am still in a lot of pain, but the blood loss has slowed (I’m sure you all wanted to know that), and this morning is my first morning all by myself since last Wednesday, when our little world fell apart.

(In between, DB has stayed home, or my friend has come over in the afternoons – she has a crazy work schedule.)  (I am so insanely fortunate.) (And yes, I’ve blown off my job for the last week.  Lame job, at home.  One of the (few) benefits.)

I am going to try to study for a Bio exam.  It is actually interesting – finally! – but the professor seems to have a thing for the effect of pregnancy on various body systems, and you know what?  It’s just hard.

We are going to try to go out on a date tonight, if I can make it down the stairs and to our car without gasping for breath.  (How dramatic can I be?  In fairness, I sound like I have run a marathon after going up the stairs.  I assume after my body acclimates to the blood loss, I will no longer sound like a 70-year old with emphysema.)  I don’t know where we’ll go.  I have to say, I am looking forward to it.  A lot.

Or we might end up eating fondue at home.  With WINE.

Yup, still looking forward to it.

(P.S.  And yes, this is really a *date*.  Like, picture high school.  Lest you be thinking there is something exciting occurring afterward – oh, no, silly people.  Got 5 more weeks to go before that is even a possibility.)

(And now my poor husband is going to crawl under a rock.  Let’s not tell him I wrote that.)

(In total honesty, that is the last thing on my mind right now.  For the next 15 years.)

(P.P.S.  I texted DB the news that, apparently, I graduated.  He wrote back, “Oh really?  Congratulations!  What did you get me?  It is customary in graduate school for graduates to buy loved ones a gift.”

So funny, that man!)

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