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Had my appt with Dr Hearn this morning. He wanted to do another ultrasound to see if the sac has detached by itself… it hasn’t. He casually mentioned not doing a D&C, and just letting the miscarriage “take its course.” However, this was NOT ok with me, so a D&C it is. I just want to know that it’s completely over… a clean slate, if you will. His waiting room was torturous… chock-full of pregnant women of all shapes and sizes and beaming fathers and squirming children and fertile happiness. I looked around for another woman who had the big, flashing neon sign on her forehead that said “Pregnancy-Challenged”… but it’s not as apparent as it seems it should be. It was only 2 weeks ago that I sat in that waiting room, happy and feeling like a member of a fabulous club. This morning, not so much… more like the pathetic, badly dressed outcast looking longingly at the pretty, popular girls.

After my exam, we headed down the hall to Pre-Op. My first thought was “Now THIS is more like it”… lots of sickly people, broken bones, pale faces… misery abounded. There was a awkward flirtation going on between one of the nursing assistants and the snack machine refill man… well, they seemed fine, it was just awkward for everyone listening. I leaned over and whispered to Bobby “I don’t know why, but I really just want to hit her.” And he replied “You take her, I’ll take him.” And then we started giggling at the ridiculousness of us trouncing the annoying, but unsuspecting couple for no apparent reason.

I have to call the office back in a few minutes and get my official check-in time for the morning. The D&C itself will only take about 15 minutes, but I have to be there an hour or so early. The earlier, the better, in my opinion… The Virginia folks aren’t arriving until Saturday morning, but I want to get it over with and start the recovery process as quickly as possible.

I’m realizing that I’m not really allowing myself to process the implications of what’s happening here. I know, on an intellectual level, that Bobby and I have lost two babies in two months, and that something is very likely wrong with me. But I don’t know if it’s the drugs or the amount of sleeping I’ve been getting, but I feel very mentally detached from this entire process. I know this is cliche, but it really does feel like a bad dream… kinda surreal, and like I may wake up at some point soon.

Bobby and I had an interesting conversation in the pre-op waiting room – we talked about how our lives were in Charlotte, before everything went to hell. We lived in a quaint little townhouse with a quaint little dog and a quaint little Mini Cooper and a quaint little yard… and with the exception of our grossly excessive spending, we were pretty content with our lives in general. Then, in Sept of 2006, we moved back home and it all blew up – moving, apartment living, job changes, cancer rediagnosis, endless treatments, Mama’s death, more job changes, more moving, two miscarriages, and all those first holidays without our mother… and the list goes on and on.

But now it’s September again. It’s two years later. And if there’s ever been time for a change, now is it. In the last two years, things have been rough. That’s an understatement. In the last two years, an almost unbelievable series of unfortunate events has occurred. I’m not sure, if I were someone else, that I would choose to stay friends with me. It’s exhausting, mind-numbing, almost as if we’ve brought it on ourselves because honestly, would this much shit just coincidentally fall on the same family? It’s not natural. And this not self-pity speaking… this is just calling it how I see it. Our little family has been operating under a curse of sorts for the last two years. Just call us Job.

So ok. It’s been two years, almost to the day. And Bobby and I decided that we’re going to attempt to move beyond this point. We’re going to shelve the baby thing for a while and focus on other things. Things like losing our “grief weight,” exercising regularly, home improvement projects, and trying to enjoy the holidays. October through December has always been my favorite time of year since I was small, and last year, it was a blur of post-motherloss misery. This year, I’d like to start regaining an appreciation for this time of year. Bobby and I decided that we’d volunteer our house for Thanksgiving dinner again this year… when we were in Charlotte, we hosted Thanksgiving dinner every year. It was the highlight of my holiday season – consulting Martha Stewart for centerpiece ideas, getting out our wedding china and crystal, having everyone together. Last year, we went to California for Thanksgiving – we were so fractured, that it only seemed appropriate to spend the holidays on the other side of the continent.

Thanksgiving dinner, weight loss and exercise, painting our bedroom – they’re small goals but they’re ours and they revolve around what we already have, rather than striving for something that seems unattainable, at least for now.

Just a thought.

God, my freakin’ lower half feels like someone’s stabbing it with a blunt object. I’m heading for the Percocet bottle… farewell.

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