I'm having a rough time of it this cycle. My PMS is out of control and my mood keeps swinging all over the place. I go from being perfectly calm and content in one minute to feeling sad and like nobody cares about me in the next, and I'm in a state of constant irritation at my husband. Most of these feelings are completely irrational, but some aren't--I do have reasons to feel sad, and I think it's probably healthier to acknowledge them than to shrug them off and chalk it all up to wacky hormones.
It's frustrating because this is my favorite time of year. I love fall, I love the weather we're having right now, I love pumpkin season and I'm eating and drinking pumpkin-flavored everything and loving that, too. I also love Halloween, although it's definitely one of those holidays that are more fun with kids than without, especially when you're beyond the partying stage (although I don't think I ever really had much of a partying stage). Even so, it's always been my favorite holiday, even more than Christmas, because for me it's all about fun and nostalgia for the good things about my childhood.
I was thinking to myself the other day that I love Halloween so much because it's not tinged with sadness and loneliness the way Christmas often is. But then I remembered that Emma's due date fell around Halloween of last year, and I realized that if I'd had her we'd most likely be planning her (or his--again, it was way too early to tell; I just have this feeling it was a girl) first birthday party as well as her first trick-or-treat outing. So there's that.
We're also right around the corner from having to face the first full set of holidays without Matt's parents. I keep thinking about last Thanksgiving, how that was the last time we got to be with both of them outside of a hospital, how happy and thankful we all were that Rob got released from his hospital stay in time to come home for Thanksgiving, and how none of us had any idea that in just a few weeks, Mom would be gone, and so would Rob just a couple of months later.
So this season is bittersweet. I'm trying to focus on the sweetness, but my hormones keep dredging up the bitterness. I want to curl up with a blanket and watch sad movies and eat all the chocolate, but instead I'm making myself stay busy (I opened up a new Etsy shop for all of the knitting and crocheting I've been doing lately) and stick to my diet and workout plan, and that's helping. I'm also praying a lot, which also helps. And every now and then I let myself have a good cry, and a little chocolate, and I remind myself that I just need to hang in there, because this cycle is almost over and then my thought patterns and coping abilities will be back to normal, at least for a week or two, and then my husband can stop sleeping with one eye open.
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sadness. Show all posts
October 4, 2011
April 1, 2011
Emma Grace
It shows a fetus about 7.5 weeks along. Much too early to be able to recognize facial features, and we know that that hint of an eye and nose and cheekbone are tricks of the light and shadow, but that doesn't stop Matt from insisting that she looked like me.
I never told anyone that her name was Emma. Emma Grace. I didn't tell because we had no idea whether "she" was actually a she or a he, and because it was far too early to discuss names, and if she had gone on to be born there would most certainly have been disagreements and compromises made on the naming front.
But in my heart, this was my daughter Emma. Named for my grandma, Erma, which is a variant of Emma and much too old-fashioned and grandmotherish for a baby girl. Middle name Grace, because I knew it was only by the grace of God that she'd actually be born.
If I ever do go on to have a healthy daughter, she'll probably keep Grace as a middle name, if not a first name. But this name, as a whole, belongs to this baby, whose heart apparently gave out at only 7 and a half weeks, uniting little Emma with her namesake in Heaven, unbeknownst to Matt and I, who believed all was well.
I was 9 weeks along when the miscarriage symptoms started, and I had the ultrasound. They sent me for a D&C the very next morning, which was one year ago today. April fools.
My mom and sister went in together for a frame for the ultrasound photo. Mom took me to Hallmark to pick something out to remember Emma by. It was hard, and I broke down quietly in the back of the store, but ultimately I was pleased with my selection. The poem beneath the picture is a Chekov quote that reads:
We shall find Peace.Your mama misses you, Emma.
We shall hear Angels.
We shall see the sky sparkle
like diamonds.
March 28, 2011
Melancholy and the Office of Sadness
I'm back in my office today, for the first time since Bobo died. I'd already gotten so used to him hanging out on the pallet we'd made for him on the floor next to my desk, that I haven't had the heart to break the pallet down, or remove his food and water bowls, or sit here next to that empty space.
This room has become a sad room; but it's also the room where I do my best being focused and productive, and I need to take it back. So this morning I made myself remove the bowls and re-cover his pillow for the other cats (and Pete) to use. It was hard, and sitting here at my desk with him gone is hard. I just feel so much like we failed him, and like we failed Mom and Rob, even though I know that we did everything we possibly could for him, and that he just didn't want to go on without his people.
So the mood in my office is melancholic. The gray skies and chilly weather are certainly contributing to that. Today would be an excellent day to curl up in bed and listen to emo music and write more angsty lyrics, but I have too much work to do. I guess I'd best go do it.
This room has become a sad room; but it's also the room where I do my best being focused and productive, and I need to take it back. So this morning I made myself remove the bowls and re-cover his pillow for the other cats (and Pete) to use. It was hard, and sitting here at my desk with him gone is hard. I just feel so much like we failed him, and like we failed Mom and Rob, even though I know that we did everything we possibly could for him, and that he just didn't want to go on without his people.
So the mood in my office is melancholic. The gray skies and chilly weather are certainly contributing to that. Today would be an excellent day to curl up in bed and listen to emo music and write more angsty lyrics, but I have too much work to do. I guess I'd best go do it.
March 25, 2011
Tearballs
Tomorrow will mark a full week of Project Oven Repair, a full week during which I've had no sweets and 95% of my meals have consisted mainly of vegetables and lean protein, I've been taking prenatal vitamins and tons of fish oil, and I've been working out consistently; and I have to say that, physically, I'm already feeling about a million times better. I have more energy, I'm sleeping better, and I'm pretty sure I've lost a couple of pounds.
And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.
And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.
So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.
You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.
And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.
And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.
So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.
You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.
March 21, 2011
Able
I got ambitious and added jogging intervals to my workout today. It was sooner than I'd planned to; I planned to just walk for at least another week before starting to work up to jogging, and by the end of my workout when I stumbled into the house and collapsed on my yoga mat, gasping for breath, I thought that I probably should have stuck to my original plan. But I needed to do something a little more aggressive than just walking--yeah, I've got just a little bit of built-up aggression that needs working off, go figure. Also, when I set out to walk there was an extra spring in my step. Just a tiny one, but it was there. I think that spring just might be spelled H-O-P-E.
I feel like I need to be careful about writing things like that down or speaking them out loud, like I should whisper them or just keep them to myself, lest the powers and principalities of the universe catch wind that I'm starting to improve and send out a bulletin: "HEY, Y'ALL, JEAN'S EDGING TOWARD HAPPINESS AGAIN! BEST STIR UP SOME MORE MISERY FOR HER! HOP TO IT!"
I think I get the whole suffering thing, at least from a Biblical perspective. I understand that it serves a purpose, that it's building me up for the Kingdom Age, that this life is my only opportunity to be an overcomer, apply scripture to my life and exercise my faith. I get it! And most of the time, I take comfort from it, and the fact that the Word promises that God won't allow us to be tested beyond what we can bear. But sometimes that makes me view God as a sadistic personal trainer who, just when I'm about to give out under all of the weight I'm holding up and I think surely he's about to take it from me and tell me to hit the showers and get some rest, instead he adds a little bit more and says, "See? You can do it! You're stronger than you think!" and I know he has my best interest at heart but I want to drop the weights on his foot and kick him in the shins and go sit in the jacuzzi until I can move my arms again.
A while back, my regular Bible study group covered Phillipians 4:13. The usual English translation is something like, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." My pastor at these sessions always goes back to the original languages to get at the heart of the meaning of scripture, and a more literal translation of this verse from the original Greek is, "I am able through the one who enables me." I don't know why I find that translation more comforting and empowering, but I do. I AM ABLE, you guys. God knew before I even existed that I would be dealing with this stuff, and he made provision, through the power of the Holy Spirit, for me to be able to handle it. It doesn't always feel like I'm handling it. Sometimes it feels like it's breaking me. But I'm not broken yet. Whether it's jogging one more block or surviving miscarriage or settling a deceased parent's affairs or anything else I have to do, I AM ABLE, because God made me so.
That doesn't mean I want to keep testing the extent of my ability, though. Seriously, Lord, isn't it jacuzzi time yet?
I feel like I need to be careful about writing things like that down or speaking them out loud, like I should whisper them or just keep them to myself, lest the powers and principalities of the universe catch wind that I'm starting to improve and send out a bulletin: "HEY, Y'ALL, JEAN'S EDGING TOWARD HAPPINESS AGAIN! BEST STIR UP SOME MORE MISERY FOR HER! HOP TO IT!"
I think I get the whole suffering thing, at least from a Biblical perspective. I understand that it serves a purpose, that it's building me up for the Kingdom Age, that this life is my only opportunity to be an overcomer, apply scripture to my life and exercise my faith. I get it! And most of the time, I take comfort from it, and the fact that the Word promises that God won't allow us to be tested beyond what we can bear. But sometimes that makes me view God as a sadistic personal trainer who, just when I'm about to give out under all of the weight I'm holding up and I think surely he's about to take it from me and tell me to hit the showers and get some rest, instead he adds a little bit more and says, "See? You can do it! You're stronger than you think!" and I know he has my best interest at heart but I want to drop the weights on his foot and kick him in the shins and go sit in the jacuzzi until I can move my arms again.
A while back, my regular Bible study group covered Phillipians 4:13. The usual English translation is something like, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." My pastor at these sessions always goes back to the original languages to get at the heart of the meaning of scripture, and a more literal translation of this verse from the original Greek is, "I am able through the one who enables me." I don't know why I find that translation more comforting and empowering, but I do. I AM ABLE, you guys. God knew before I even existed that I would be dealing with this stuff, and he made provision, through the power of the Holy Spirit, for me to be able to handle it. It doesn't always feel like I'm handling it. Sometimes it feels like it's breaking me. But I'm not broken yet. Whether it's jogging one more block or surviving miscarriage or settling a deceased parent's affairs or anything else I have to do, I AM ABLE, because God made me so.
That doesn't mean I want to keep testing the extent of my ability, though. Seriously, Lord, isn't it jacuzzi time yet?
March 8, 2011
Hooky
I'm playing hooky today. I didn't plan to; I signed onto the Internet with every intention of getting work done. But after a couple of hours of catching up on my "fun" blog reads and watching Muppet videos on Youtube, I realized how much I really need a day to be totally unproductive and just rest. A random day off in the middle of the week that doesn't involve burying pets or going to funeral homes or taking care of the estates of deceased loved ones.
I think when you wake up in the morning already crying, it's okay to take the day off.
It might seem like an easy decision, but it's not. Business has been slow and we're teetering on the brink of financial destitution, so I've been working overtime to generate some income. I set up a new Etsy store for graphic & web design, which still needs more stock added to it, and launched a monthly graphics subscription club. But so far, nobody's buying. I've been working my butt off to generate client leads, and I keep getting bites, but I'm not closing any sales. I even took an online class on ethical salesmanship that guaranteed increased sales, but it hasn't made a lick of difference. So it's pretty frustrating, and certainly isn't helping my stress-levels.
Cue the well-intentioned and not-at-all-judgy e-mails telling me that I should go get a job at Walmart or McDonald's because my business is clearly a failure. I love those e-mails.
Anyway. I have one more product that I want to hurry and get on the market before I go back to writing full-time for Demand Studios until things pick up. I got pretty burned out on DS last year, but at least it's a paycheck. But before that starts taking up all of my time and energy, I want to put together an online course on blogging for businesses. There are plenty of courses out there on how to blog AS a business, but I haven't seen any targeted at businesses that want to add a blog to their web sites to improve SEO, generate leads, build credibility and trust, etc. So I'm developing that, and hopefully I'll be able to develop an audience for it (if you think you might be the audience for it, you can sign up here to be notified when it's ready to launch).
I'm also thinking about putting together a chapbook of my short stories and Ficlets to sell. And possibly re-editing and re-packaging This Old Haunt and going whole-hog with the self-publishing instead of just throwing it up on Scribd. But I probably need to get a few DS articles under my belt before I can make time for that.
But today, I'm going to put my feet up and watch TV and videos and maybe get some exercise and practice my bass and read something for pleasure. Work and money woes and packing away Bobo's things and cleaning the carpet stains in my office can all wait for tomorrow.
I think when you wake up in the morning already crying, it's okay to take the day off.
It might seem like an easy decision, but it's not. Business has been slow and we're teetering on the brink of financial destitution, so I've been working overtime to generate some income. I set up a new Etsy store for graphic & web design, which still needs more stock added to it, and launched a monthly graphics subscription club. But so far, nobody's buying. I've been working my butt off to generate client leads, and I keep getting bites, but I'm not closing any sales. I even took an online class on ethical salesmanship that guaranteed increased sales, but it hasn't made a lick of difference. So it's pretty frustrating, and certainly isn't helping my stress-levels.
Cue the well-intentioned and not-at-all-judgy e-mails telling me that I should go get a job at Walmart or McDonald's because my business is clearly a failure. I love those e-mails.
Anyway. I have one more product that I want to hurry and get on the market before I go back to writing full-time for Demand Studios until things pick up. I got pretty burned out on DS last year, but at least it's a paycheck. But before that starts taking up all of my time and energy, I want to put together an online course on blogging for businesses. There are plenty of courses out there on how to blog AS a business, but I haven't seen any targeted at businesses that want to add a blog to their web sites to improve SEO, generate leads, build credibility and trust, etc. So I'm developing that, and hopefully I'll be able to develop an audience for it (if you think you might be the audience for it, you can sign up here to be notified when it's ready to launch).
I'm also thinking about putting together a chapbook of my short stories and Ficlets to sell. And possibly re-editing and re-packaging This Old Haunt and going whole-hog with the self-publishing instead of just throwing it up on Scribd. But I probably need to get a few DS articles under my belt before I can make time for that.
But today, I'm going to put my feet up and watch TV and videos and maybe get some exercise and practice my bass and read something for pleasure. Work and money woes and packing away Bobo's things and cleaning the carpet stains in my office can all wait for tomorrow.
March 7, 2011
Bobo
I knew when I woke up with a headache this morning that it wasn't going to be a good day.
Bobo, the kitty we inherited from mom and Rob, passed away today about noon. I checked on him when I got up, and could tell then that he probably wouldn't last through the day. I loved on him, but he seemed to want to be left alone. I debated whether we should leave it to nature or just put it on our credit card to take him to the vet and put an end to his suffering. I prayed about it, and asked the Lord to please take him quickly and not let him suffer if there was no hope for his recovery. About twenty minutes later, Matt went to check on him, and he was gone.
We wrapped him in his favorite blanket and took him to my mom's, out in the country, where we buried him next to our doggie Fizzgigg.
So it's been an emotional day, to say the least. Bobo was all that was left of Matt's family, and we got a lot of comfort from him before he started going downhill. But after Rob died, it seemed like Bobo just gave up the will to live.
After he stopped eating kibble, we were able to get him to eat tuna a few times, but then he stopped eating that, too. I started force-feeding him mashed up kibble through a syringe, which he hated. Yesterday, he took all of his food -- well, most of it; he kept trying to spit it out -- and he hung out with us instead of hiding out in my office. After a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea (in my office, all over the carpet), he even let me bathe him, and then he let me hold him, swaddled in a towel and cradled like a baby, to keep him warm while he dried off. When we went to bed last night I was still hopeful that he'd pull through. But like I said, all it took was one look at him this morning to realize how wrong I was.
He was a really sweet cat, and he had a perfectly happy life until his family and home were taken away. Matt and I tried our best to do right by him and let him know he was still loved, but it just wasn't enough. I hope he gets to go be with them now.
Bobo, the kitty we inherited from mom and Rob, passed away today about noon. I checked on him when I got up, and could tell then that he probably wouldn't last through the day. I loved on him, but he seemed to want to be left alone. I debated whether we should leave it to nature or just put it on our credit card to take him to the vet and put an end to his suffering. I prayed about it, and asked the Lord to please take him quickly and not let him suffer if there was no hope for his recovery. About twenty minutes later, Matt went to check on him, and he was gone.
We wrapped him in his favorite blanket and took him to my mom's, out in the country, where we buried him next to our doggie Fizzgigg.
So it's been an emotional day, to say the least. Bobo was all that was left of Matt's family, and we got a lot of comfort from him before he started going downhill. But after Rob died, it seemed like Bobo just gave up the will to live.
After he stopped eating kibble, we were able to get him to eat tuna a few times, but then he stopped eating that, too. I started force-feeding him mashed up kibble through a syringe, which he hated. Yesterday, he took all of his food -- well, most of it; he kept trying to spit it out -- and he hung out with us instead of hiding out in my office. After a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea (in my office, all over the carpet), he even let me bathe him, and then he let me hold him, swaddled in a towel and cradled like a baby, to keep him warm while he dried off. When we went to bed last night I was still hopeful that he'd pull through. But like I said, all it took was one look at him this morning to realize how wrong I was.
He was a really sweet cat, and he had a perfectly happy life until his family and home were taken away. Matt and I tried our best to do right by him and let him know he was still loved, but it just wasn't enough. I hope he gets to go be with them now.
April 4, 2010
Easter Promises
Today is hard. All the days are hard, but today... just last Sunday, before the spotting started, Matt and I were talking about how much fun next Easter would be, and all the Easters thereafter, having a baby to celebrate with and do the whole Easter basket thing. So today is serving as a harsh reminder that it definitely won't happen next Easter, and it might never happen for us, and that hurts. A lot.
I'm trying to focus on what this day is really about. It's not easy, but it does help to remember that I have the hope of being reunited with my children in Eternity thanks to the work that my Lord Jesus did at the cross. It's all of the Easters, and Christmases, and birthdays and every days without them in between now and then that I'm mourning. It's also the pain of another unfulfilled pregnancy, and of wondering if I'll ever be able to achieve that fulfillment, to have a healthy pregnancy and carry a healthy baby to term, or if my body's just not capable of that for some reason.
I'm also still physically sore (and allergies are kicking my butt today to boot; at least I can take Sudafed now), which is keeping me on the couch with too much time to dwell on these things. I know I need to get off the couch, to find some healthy distractions and get my mind into a better place, but it's hard to make myself move. Maybe later I'll at least go outside and get some sunshine. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel recovered enough to go for a walk.
Tuesday is my birthday. I would normally be kind of bummed about drawing another year closer to 40, but let's face it: my 36th year pretty much blew, and I'm glad for it to be over. I'm expecting my 37th to bring better things. My mom's taking me out Tuesday for some birthday shopping and badly needed pampering, and that night Matt will take me out to our favorite Thai place for dinner. I think it will do me a lot of good, a whole day full of happy distractions and getting out of the house.
Today, though... it's supposed to be a day of rejoicing in the risen Savior and the promise of resurrection we have through Him. But for me it's more a day of quiet contemplation and mourning what I've lost, what I won't gain back until that promise is fulfilled at the end of my life here on this earth. My babies have that promise already, though. Whatever genetic or chromosomal problems kept them from living more than a few precious weeks, at least I have the knowledge that they never have to know pain or suffering, that they now have perfect bodies free of any defects. In that, I CAN rejoice.
Happy Easter to those of you who share my faith. I hope yours is a day full of joy.
I'm trying to focus on what this day is really about. It's not easy, but it does help to remember that I have the hope of being reunited with my children in Eternity thanks to the work that my Lord Jesus did at the cross. It's all of the Easters, and Christmases, and birthdays and every days without them in between now and then that I'm mourning. It's also the pain of another unfulfilled pregnancy, and of wondering if I'll ever be able to achieve that fulfillment, to have a healthy pregnancy and carry a healthy baby to term, or if my body's just not capable of that for some reason.
I'm also still physically sore (and allergies are kicking my butt today to boot; at least I can take Sudafed now), which is keeping me on the couch with too much time to dwell on these things. I know I need to get off the couch, to find some healthy distractions and get my mind into a better place, but it's hard to make myself move. Maybe later I'll at least go outside and get some sunshine. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel recovered enough to go for a walk.
Tuesday is my birthday. I would normally be kind of bummed about drawing another year closer to 40, but let's face it: my 36th year pretty much blew, and I'm glad for it to be over. I'm expecting my 37th to bring better things. My mom's taking me out Tuesday for some birthday shopping and badly needed pampering, and that night Matt will take me out to our favorite Thai place for dinner. I think it will do me a lot of good, a whole day full of happy distractions and getting out of the house.
Today, though... it's supposed to be a day of rejoicing in the risen Savior and the promise of resurrection we have through Him. But for me it's more a day of quiet contemplation and mourning what I've lost, what I won't gain back until that promise is fulfilled at the end of my life here on this earth. My babies have that promise already, though. Whatever genetic or chromosomal problems kept them from living more than a few precious weeks, at least I have the knowledge that they never have to know pain or suffering, that they now have perfect bodies free of any defects. In that, I CAN rejoice.
Happy Easter to those of you who share my faith. I hope yours is a day full of joy.
December 8, 2009
This Sucky Thing That Happened
Firstly, I want to offer heartfelt thanks from both Husband and myself to everyone who offered prayers, warm wishes, sympathy and support. Every bit of it has meant so much, and has helped to make this awful week slightly easier to bear.
In case you missed it, I spent last Wednesday in the ER following a miscarriage. I've spent the last several days since then resting and recovering. Physically, I'm still sore, but that's getting better. Emotionally, I'm still prone to random bouts of weepiness. We're both dealing with feelings of anger, of feeling ripped off and singled out. The last part is totally irrational. Since this happened, I've discovered that I know more women who've had miscarriages than who haven't. It just happens, and it happens often, and there are so many things that can go wrong in the first trimester that it's really a miracle that any baby ever makes it past that point. Statistically, it's no surprise that it happened to me. But that doesn't make it suck any less, or feel any less personal.
I feel tired and worn out on both plains, as does Matt. We're both ready for this to be over with, to put it behind us and move on. Yesterday my mom came over and helped us put up our Christmas decorations. We didn't really feel like bothering, but thought it was important to go through the motions, to remind us that life goes on. I think it helped. I also wrote this, which also helped.
Today (Monday, that is -- it's 2:00 AM on Tuesday as I write this) was less helpful. I had my follow-up appointment at the clinic, where the midwife thought she saw something during her exam that she wasn't equipped to deal with, so she sent us back to the ER. After four hours sitting around the waiting room, we spent another four hours hanging out in an exam room, where I was violated by all manner of unpleasant instruments, only to be told the same thing they told us after the first ER visit/violation: that my body's taking care of it on its own and I don't need a D&C. So that was time and money well spent.
Now I'm exhausted, but too keyed up from being stuck in an ER bed all evening to sleep. I'm also still up partly out of guilt - we confined the cats before we left so they'd stay out of trouble, thinking we'd only be gone a couple of hours at most, and I don't have the heart to lock them up again for the night so soon after they regained their freedom.
I'll probably spend tomorrow catching up on sleep, then on housework, if I feel up to it. After a few days of enforced bed rest, followed by several more days of sleeping and being too sore and sad to bother, there's a lot of it. Matt's been a big help, but there's only so much he's able to do on one leg. By Wednesday I'll get back to work, whether I feel like it or not--because life must go on, whether I feel like it or not.
In case you missed it, I spent last Wednesday in the ER following a miscarriage. I've spent the last several days since then resting and recovering. Physically, I'm still sore, but that's getting better. Emotionally, I'm still prone to random bouts of weepiness. We're both dealing with feelings of anger, of feeling ripped off and singled out. The last part is totally irrational. Since this happened, I've discovered that I know more women who've had miscarriages than who haven't. It just happens, and it happens often, and there are so many things that can go wrong in the first trimester that it's really a miracle that any baby ever makes it past that point. Statistically, it's no surprise that it happened to me. But that doesn't make it suck any less, or feel any less personal.
I feel tired and worn out on both plains, as does Matt. We're both ready for this to be over with, to put it behind us and move on. Yesterday my mom came over and helped us put up our Christmas decorations. We didn't really feel like bothering, but thought it was important to go through the motions, to remind us that life goes on. I think it helped. I also wrote this, which also helped.
Today (Monday, that is -- it's 2:00 AM on Tuesday as I write this) was less helpful. I had my follow-up appointment at the clinic, where the midwife thought she saw something during her exam that she wasn't equipped to deal with, so she sent us back to the ER. After four hours sitting around the waiting room, we spent another four hours hanging out in an exam room, where I was violated by all manner of unpleasant instruments, only to be told the same thing they told us after the first ER visit/violation: that my body's taking care of it on its own and I don't need a D&C. So that was time and money well spent.
Now I'm exhausted, but too keyed up from being stuck in an ER bed all evening to sleep. I'm also still up partly out of guilt - we confined the cats before we left so they'd stay out of trouble, thinking we'd only be gone a couple of hours at most, and I don't have the heart to lock them up again for the night so soon after they regained their freedom.
I'll probably spend tomorrow catching up on sleep, then on housework, if I feel up to it. After a few days of enforced bed rest, followed by several more days of sleeping and being too sore and sad to bother, there's a lot of it. Matt's been a big help, but there's only so much he's able to do on one leg. By Wednesday I'll get back to work, whether I feel like it or not--because life must go on, whether I feel like it or not.
April 10, 2008
Bravo, Zombie Without Pity
Wow. Television Without Pity, such as it was, is well and truly dead now, resurrected as a brain-eating shadow of its former self. It's not a surprise, being that when the heart of the site left and took its soul with it, it was only a matter of time before it went brain dead. What is it with giant corporations buying out cool and popular things and then killing everything that made them cool and popular to begin with, all in the name of "improvement"? I don't get it, and I never will.
Farewell, Mighty Big TWoP. I choose to remember the good times.
Farewell, Mighty Big TWoP. I choose to remember the good times.
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