OK fuck it.. I gotta set a date and stop smoking... This is driving me nuts. I sooo much want to be a non-smoker (or a least a smoker that is currently NOT smoking) but I sooooooooooooo (insert three pages of 'oooo' here) much use it for the crutch it is... Man I am conflicted!
ps. Lianna... I'm toying with the idea of posting that story (yes that story)... I'm a little afraid to... not sure what to do.
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I am so freaking busy at work... I gotta pack, like, three days into today. Time to go over to radio snack and buy one of those new fangled time shifting machines... Time enough to post a rant like this but no time to read... waahhhhh!!!
Ms. Luna? You ok?
Hiya LJ… I wanted to tell a story to you. I want to make this a part of my forever record and LJ is a good place for it… I would have posted this a while ago… I first wrote it for a friend that was having some trouble. I think a lot of people could take heart from it, but it's a rough story… I don't want anyone to think I'm 'using' this story - it's an important story and I wanted to share it with you. Here goes...
"Corto… let's make a baby."
We're about 5 appointments with the doctor down 'that' road…
Married for about a year…
Everybody was glowing…
We had an envelop on the bedside table with tickets to our last gasp.
A Royal Caribbean cruise…
Hey, "expectant parents plan last trip without the pending tether" would have been the headline…
I remember asking the nurse on the phone about what the hell 'spotting' meant? I mean how much is a little? Say, maybe as much as a coffee creamer? A few drops from a eye dropper? "Come on, what's a spot?"
Off to the emerg where we met Doctor Poker Face. "This is perfectly normal, but you should see your gyno. Ok?"
Her tummy hurt…
I remember holding her while she doubles over in a cramp with the phone pressed against my head talking to our doc's nurse. The appointment was for NOW. Off we go.
That was the day I learned what a Blighted Ovum was. This sucked like nothing has ever sucked before. They wanted to see if Z would pass it on her own… she couldn't - but not for lack of screamingly painful contractions.
I sat on the floor in the hall at the local hospital just outside the doors through which only Docs and people in silly gowns could go while she had a D&C.
I sat on the floor beside the bed all night holding her hand wishing she could sleep.
We walked… and walked… and walked.
We went on the cruise. I mean 3 in 7 pregnancies don't work out so this was not too unusual. We could try again later, so why not go on the cruise to get our minds off it and try to relax.
Gotta say, big mistake. The only people our age we really clicked with were two couples that included a girl Zebra's age (Zebra - my wife) that was four months along. I will always regret that cruise but that's life and in the end, we moved on.
>>> Picture a scene change in a drama type Sunday night movie of the week… <<<
…………………. Six months later ………………….
"Corto, you have got to try to not say anything! K?". "We have to wait 12 weeks before we tell people."
This one was cool… I remembered the night we made it… I remember saying "Lets do it… lets finish this one…" That was a long cuddle.
I have to work hard to still remember that night now.
8 weeks in…
It was winter… I remember cold. I remember bright bright sun. I remember cold.
"CORTO THIS HURTS"
We're in Doctor Dickhead's office now. Not the gyno, the family doc. Correction, the previous family doc.
"This is not unusual people. You just need to get off your feet for a few days… I'll be right back."
Click. (door closes) We're alone. "Corto, this does not feel right. FUCK, This doesn't feel right and he's wrong! It hurts and it's not supposed to hurt… Is it?" She has never looked so confused… so lost…
Doc comes back in and I say "Listen, this may be normal, but I'm not convinced… I want you to check harder… I want an ultrasound NOW! It hurts her and telling her to get off her feet is not good enough."
He does something called a "Rebound Test"… This involves holding his hand flat against her lower abdomen and thumping the back of his hand with his other hand… then removing both hands and pressing in with two fingers till it almost hurts and quickly pulling his hand away…
He does this three or four times. He excuses himself for a moment.
5 minutes. Z is crying now.
He comes in and says that he has scheduled an ultrasound at the hospital downtown for 30 minutes from now and could we go now? Then (UNFUCKING BELIEVABLE!!!!) asks me to come into the hall. Like an idiot I comply. I should have told him to 'out with it' right there. He explains that there is a remote possibility that something big is wrong and I must go DIRECTLY to the hospital right now NOW NOW….
That was that last time I saw that doctor.
20 minutes later we are in the hospital.
5 minutes after that we are having an ultrasound…
2 minutes after that Zebra is on a gurney (crying like you cannot possibly believe) rolling down a hall. Some nurse person is wrapping me in this big hospital green cape while I run along beside the gurney.
Zebra has about an hour to live.
Three hours later I am once again on the floor outside those "do not enter" double doors and I look up through a very puffy face to see the Gyno pulling off a face mask saying "everything is fine". Z will be ok.
She is now without an ovary on the left side, and is short a fallopian tube. This was an ectopic pregnancy. The egg had lodged in the tube and grew enough to rupture the tube and damage the ovary. Her bladder was filling with blood and would have killed her had WE NOT TOLD DR DICKHEAD TO CHECK HARDER.
Z emerged from the recovery room on a roll'en bed unconscious and I sat with her till she woke up in the wee hours. She was on enough drugs to keep anything from hurting and yet she was still in bunches of pain. I don't really understand the drug - pain thing but we lay together on the bed in the hospital all night… until the nursing staff forced me - dragged me - out of the room at dawn and made me go home. Z came home the next day.
Flash forward… 8 months.
New family doc.
New reason to keep a secret (with half the baby making parts gone inside my beautiful Z!! no less.)
We called it "rocky" cause we characterized it as a little fighter! It had a strong heart beat from the get go, and our doc put up with us wanting to make sure everything was ok on a weekly basis.
George was born.
A couple of years later, Z came with me on a business trip to Atlanta. Although she disagrees from a timing perspective I've come to let myself believe that we made Edward in a hotel room in Atlanta.
I know how hard it is to loose a baby. Z had to go through so much mourning and I had to try so hard be 'even' … I mean I couldn't be all upbeat, and I couldn't be down.
But the bottom line is that 'love finds a way'. The pregnancies that did not work out went that way for a reason and we understand that now… Try to explain that to us back when we were in the thick of it? Forget it. But when it's right your body knows and takes care of business.
I hold myself back in the RW when I hear about miscarriages or pregnancies-in-training (anything under 12 weeks) 'cause it's such a hard discussion. It's a double edge sword - this story. It could just depress the crap out of you, or - as I hope - it could reinforce for you the idea that things happen for a reason and there is every great reason to try again (Note: Z was 30 George was born).
And now there's George and Edward busy being the cutest things on the planet.
Ok, really long day comming up. One of my team has a birthday so I'm gonna take him out to lunch... gotta get major report done for 'the queens printer' (actually it's kinda cool!) and then go play at ccra for the rest of the day.... oh, man I'm tired.
I think I'm about to go smoke my last cigg. I will make a major freaking super hero effort starting when I crack lids tomorrow morning to not smoke.
ps. of this I am moi afraid. I'm gonna over eat, fuck up all my clothes, re-test at that place and get a brand new all time high bastard rating (I was like 26% or something, "bastard" today).