Wednesday, August 7, 2013


So, I realize I haven’t written between the confirmation of diagnosis day and today. Did you all read New Moon (of the Twilight series)? I have a HUGE mostly guilty pleasure in reading teen fiction. I genuinely believe authors for the high school age group need to work harder to get readers engaged and so tell more interesting stories. We can debate all day the harm to female society in having a female “heroine” who pines after a boy obsessively, but you have to admit, it was pretty interesting. Not to mention it is pretty spot on to those who have experienced obsessive, unrequited love. Anyway, I digress. My point was, in New Moon Edward leaves Bella in pretty heartbreaking fashion. When it sinks in that she has been abandoned by the man she loves, she falls into a depressed stupor. Things happen around her, but she isn’t a part of them.  Months pass in text-less pages except for single words written in chapter font at the top of each page: November, December, January. THAT’S what happened to me.

In reliving Blue Sunday’s pregnancy through this one, I found myself reflecting on just how long I knew Blue Sunday would die before he actually did. It was a long time. 5 full days. 

In that time, I was in shock. Like Bella, I acknowledge that things did happen, but none of them mattered, and none of them really happened to me. 

Africa’s then-fiancĂ©e arrived from Kenya. He flew into Boston New Year’s Eve (or perhaps very late the night before). We went to their apartment for a party and to meet him on NYE. I left before 2012 made its entrance. It was supposed to be the year we became parents. I drank mimosas with hub New Years morning, as we always do. It was joyless and tasteless. I finished The Hunger Games series and moved on to a John Grisham book.  I looked at the tree, which we never lit. It grew brown and pointy. I think we took it down almost a month after Christmas. 

In the haze. I made termination plans. I know I went to the TFMR doctor twice. Once to confirm that was really what we wanted to do and again, at 18w5d to have the laminaria inserted. At the confirmation appointment, I cried uncontrollably. This was to my detriment and I wish that I was more with it. Everything went smoothly, but I would have liked to do an autopsy, I think I was offered but refused at that appointment. 

The day of the laminaria insertion, I fought with the TFMR doc’s office assistants. They had no idea what they were doing and I had no patience. They spoke very little English and trying to explain things while in a panic and angry wasn’t happening. Essentially, they had to have their 15$ co-pay RIGHT THEN, but didn’t take anything but cash. I didn’t have any cash, there is no ATM in the building. Can we deal with this later? No. Really? My appointment is now, the doc is standing there waiting for me and I have to get this done within a certain time frame. No. We had to go find an ATM. Just f*ing BILL ME or take credit cards like a normal place. 

Then I was scheduled for the surgery at 630, she went through all the pre-surgery rules including no food after midnight. As we were going over this the time changes to 2:30. 8 hours later. Still she told me, no food or drink after midnight. Why I asked, can I eat 6.5 hours before a 630am surgery but need to have 13.5 hours for a 2:30 surgery? I really have to go 13.5 hours without a sip of water? 

I was angry at the world, and I know that, but that still makes me po’ed. I could see if there was a possibility of moving me up in the day, but I was told get to the hospital to see if we can move you up at 11:30, so it wasn’t that much earlier. Anyway, I was glad to focus on something. 

The insertion was a mess. The incompetent assistants forgot to prep the room, get the MD a light AND change the batteries. I ended up sitting feet in the stirrups with the door wide open while the doc scrambled to fix the mistakes. They didn’t let hub into the room with me. That was scary. The doc, however, is the best in the state. Has never has a maternal death or loss of fertility. I can put up with a horrible office, he is a surgeon, I would be seen next at the hospital, not an office. 

The laminaria were painful, but not awful. I was given some heavy duty pain killers for this stage and the post-surgery stage. I went to bed early due to the drugs, but didn’t sleep much. I had my hands over my belly most of the night. I wanted last memories of how it felt to be pregnant. 

And it's too late baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide it
And I just can't fake it

Carole King, It’s Too Late

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