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I think it's time that Ellen DeGeneres stops dancing at the begining of EVERY. SINGLE. SHOW.
The first year she did her show it was cute.
"Hey! Look at the funny, white, lesbian trying to dance!"
Now, it's just SAD.
I really love Ellen, but the dancing just has to stop.
I'm leaving for my trip today. We're spending two nights at my Mom's house in the Poconos, four nights in Montreal, two nights in New Hampshire, and one night in Boston.
I don't know if I'll have internet access after Monday. If not, I will be walking the streets of Montreal, twitching.
If you've emailed me and I haven't gotten back to you, I apologize- I have 30 emails sitting in my inbox- I've been feeling overwhelmed, and they're going to have to wait until I get back.
Please enjoy this picture of Mookie in my absence and talk amongst yourselves.
I had a Pretty Woman moment yesterday.
The husband and I were out on Long Island (ie, the burbs) visiting the in-laws and running some errands.
We dropped our car off for service and right across the street is a very fancy-schmancy store that sells $300 T-shirts. I happened to have more than $500 in credit at said fancy-schmancy store because my mother-in-law insists on repeatedly buying my husband dress shirts and ties- even though he wears pajamas (scrubs) to work every day-so we return them and get credit.
If he never purchased another dress shirt or tie he'd still have enough to last him to eternity.
So we go into the fancy schmancy store that is named after a sport you play while riding a horse and a man who's last name is a women's name -*ahem*.
I am looking at a cashmere sweater when a sales woman comes up to me and asks me what size I'm looking for.
"A small or a medium"
"Oh, you are definitely NOT a small. Have you ever worn our stuff?"
(Insult #1)
"Yes I have, and depending on the cut, I wear a small or a medium"
"This isn't on sale, you know"
(Insult #2)
"That's fine"
"Our sale merchandise is over there"
(Insult #3)
"I'm not concerned as to whether something is on sale or not"
"All right honey. Well, let me know if you need a fitting room"
(Condescending)
I actually started humming the song "Pretty Woman" when she walked away.
I hate the assumption that because I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt I don't "belong" in their store.
Several years ago I worked in a very high end women's boutique.
One day a very shlumpy looking woman came into the store- overalls, sneakers, messy hair- and I thought to myself "This women isn't going to buy anything. She's just going to waste my time."
And then she bought a $3,000 coat right out of the window without even blinking.
I learned my lesson that day.
The irony is, the area where this store is located is notorious for wealthy housewives who wear sweat pants and flip-flops with their Louis Vuitton bags.
You'd think the saleswomen would have known better.
Maybe next time I go shopping I'll wear my ball gown.
Yesterday was a tough day.
I was hoping I would be pregnant on Mothers' Day.
I know it's just a Hallmark Holiday concocted to sell cards and gifts, but when you're not pregnant, and you want to be, it makes you feel useless and awkward.
It wasn't just a bad day because it was Mothers Day- I also threw my back out, so I took codeine and then had brunch with my in-laws, where my mother-in-law decided to lecture us on our finances, or lack thereof. As in, you don't have any money, and you're never going to be able to afford to buy a house/apartment. What a great conversation to have while you're stoned. I would have preferred to talk about chocolate, or cookies, or chocolate cookies.
I also decided yesterday would be a great day to go to Babies R Us and buy my cousin's baby shower gift. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for my cousin, but standing in a baby super store on Mother's Day, childless, surrounded by all of the cute baby clothes and toys was not the best idea I've ever had.
I hope you had a better day than I did.
I went to the doctor today.
After sticking various accoutrements up my hoo-ha, she determined that the cyst that was 5cm a little more than a week ago is now 7cm.
It is just sitting right there, pressing against my bladder, mocking me.
The best part of the visit was when my doctor was all "You're not traveling anytime soon, are you?"
And I was all "Um, I'm leaving on a 9-day trip a week from Saturday."
And she was all "Well, because now we have to be concerned about ovarian torsion."
At which point I just laughed because my other option was crying and I've had enough of that.
She said as long as I would have access to major hospitals (I will- I'll be visiting Boston, Montreal, and New Hampshire) she would be fine with me traveling. BUT, if I suddenly develop extreme abdominal pain to go to an ER immediately because I might need emergency surgery. AWESOME.
If this cyst isn't gone in six weeks it looks like I'll be having surgery. FUN!
Oh, and I had tried to look on the bright side when I had this latest miscarriage- since I had to wait three months before we were allowed to try again, I was going to work out and get in the best shape of my life.
Yeah, not so much. The doctor told me I can only do "light" exercise.
Do you think sitting on my couch, eating ice cream sandwiches counts?
As I'm typing this I just realized that I've been wearing my pajama pants inside-out for the past 6 hours.
My father pronounces the word WHORE as hoo-er.
I don't know why I get such a kick out of that.
If you pray long enough and hard enough, your dreams can come true.
What TV shows would you like to see made into a movie?
So, I was taking Dexter for his morning walk. Dexter likes to carry a toy when we go for a walk:
I must also preface this story by saying that Dexter LOVES children and babies.
I'm not sure where his obsession with little ones came from, but maybe it's because they taste good:
Mmmmmmmm, TASTY!
Tastes like chicken!
Anyway, back to the story-
Dexter and I were crossing the street. On the sidewalk we were approaching, there were several people, including a couple with a todder in a stroller.
As we stepped up onto the curb the father jumped in front of the stroller and started yelling "NO, no, no!"
I said "It's OK, he won't hurt her."
To which he responded "No, no, no!"
"He's a therapy dog" I said, getting frustrated (I was in NO MOOD for ridiculous people).
And then he delivered a line that I will never forget:
"KEEP IT AWAY FROM MY HUMAN"
Blink. Blink.
Did he just say "Keep it away from my human"?
All of the people standing on the curb had their mouths hanging open in disbelief. A few chuckled.
Keep in mind that during this entire incident Dexter was wagging his tail and holding his stuffed animal in his mouth, unaware of his power to strike terror.
I'd also like to point out that his wife was with him, but she never said a word. She just stood there with this look on her face like "If I say anything he's going to beat me again".
After my initial shock wore off, I said "I feel really sorry for your daughter because when she's an adult she won't be able to walk down the street because of her fear of dogs"
He gave me an eloquent rebuttal of "That's fine".
Um, actually, no it's not FINE.
So, I said to him, "It's really unfortunate that you're putting your own fears on your child" and then I turned and crossed the street.
This happened on Friday. I've spent all weekend analyzing it.
Why did he say "MY HUMAN"? Why didn't he say "my child", or "my daughter", or "my little girl"?
Who refers to their child as "MY HUMAN"?
The first questions everyone who I tell this story to asks me is "Was he foreign? Did he not have a command of the English language?"
He spoke perfect English.
* Side note: Have modern day humans lost all of their instincts?
I'm asking this question because things like this happen all the time. Dexter will be skipping along with a giant rainbow colored stuffed octopus in his mouth and some people will still be terrified. I have no tolerance for people who have one bad experience with a dog and then, subsequently, are terrified of ALL DOGS. I've gotten screwed by tons of people and yet I'm not scared of ALL PEOPLE.
I truly believe that if I had grown up in the middle of the jungle and never seen a dog before, that when I saw Dexter, walking down the street, tail wagging, with a stuffed animal in his mouth, I would be able to read his body language and realize that he meant me no harm. This would be especially true if another person ASSURED me that he was docile.
Tracy came up with the only explanation that makes any sense:
The man and his wife were aliens who couldn't conceive a baby, so they came to earth and stole a human baby. They had never seen a dog before, so when they saw Dexter they freaked out and thought that this vicious monster might eat their precious human baby.
Yes.
Vicious.
Evil monster.
It all makes sense now.
I'm done.
I don't want to be an adult anymore.
Even being a teenager, as painful as that was, would be preferable.
I want to worry about whether or not the boy I have a crush on will be in the pizza parlor during the same lunch period as me.
I want to worry about what color laces to get for my Doc Martens.
I want to worry about whether or not I will be invited to the party at the popular girl's house.
I don't want all of these adult responsibilities.
I want to worry about when I'll get my first period, not that the blood coming out of me is a loss of life.
I want to worry about what I got on my math test, not whether or not my father's tumors are growing.
I want to worry about whether or not I'll pass my drivers license test, not whether or not I can afford the repairs my car needs.
And, if I do, SOMEHOW, finally come to terms with being an adult, I want it to be fun.
Where's the fun?
And I want the fact that I'm married to the love of my life to overshadow all of the bad stuff.
Why can't love be enough for me?
I want to be one of those people who finds the silver lining and looks on the bright side.
I want to travel to the farthest corner of the earth and hide from it all.
The problem is, no matter where I go, I can't escape my feelings, or my heavy heart.
In order for you to understand what I've been through in the past 48 hours I need to start the story at the beginning....
When the husband and I decided we were ready to start trying to have a baby soon, I went to an OB for a pre-pregnancy checkup. We'll call this doctor "Doctor A".
I REALLY liked Doctor A. She was very calm and soothing which was a good match for me considering how high strung I am.
Then I became pregnant (three months after we started trying) and I called Doctor A's office to make an appointment and was told that Doctor A was pregnant, had a complication, and was on bed rest and wouldn't be back in the office for several months. I became a patient of another doctor in the same practice. We'll call this doctor "Doctor B".
I liked Doctor B. She was not as calm as Doctor A, but she was nice, and her daughter was vegetarian, so she understood my diet. Doctor B was the one who gave me the sonogram when we found out the baby had no heartbeat.
I had the D&C (surgery to remove the baby) and was told (by Doctor B) to wait until I got my period once and then we could start trying again.
That's what we did. And we got pregnant on the first try.
But from the moment I found out I was pregnant two weeks ago I felt like something wasn't right. I can't really explain it. I tried not to think about it because I couldn't tell if my feelings were real or if they were just paranoia because of what happened with the first pregnancy. I even bought three boxes of pregnancy tests- all different kinds- for a total of SEVEN tests. I took all seven of them over a 48 period and they all said positive, including the digital ones.
So, I tried not to listen to the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
One of my best friends got married this past Saturday night, and I made the cake. I worked on the cake Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then I went to the wedding on Saturday.
I'm so glad that this didn't happen until Sunday.
As I said in the previous post I woke up with a bad feeling on Sunday and by 3pm I was in the emergency room.
I wasn't actively bleeding, but I was having cramping.
They performed an ultrasound and said they couldn't see anything because my bladder was full, so I went to the bathroom and they repeated the ultrasound. They said my bladder was still full and they still couldn't see anything (even though I had JUST peed). The husband questioned them about this and they just shrugged it off.
The conclusion the doctors in the ER came up with was that I had had a chemical pregnancy and I was now having my period. They told me to call my doctor's office in the morning.
I burst into tears because I felt like an idiot for going to the ER for my PERIOD. I was also upset because I really didn't feel like this was my period. For the next 20 hours or so I had NO BLOOD.
I called my doctor's office Monday morning and spoke to the nurse. She said the people in the ER were a bunch of idiots and that in 1/4 of all pregnancies there is some bleeding, so I shouldn't lose all hope. She told me to come in tomorrow (Tuesday) to see the doctor and have my blood drawn so they could test my HCG level.
I wanted to kill her for giving me false hope because I knew I was going to miscarry. Sure enough a little while after I hung up the phone, I started passing clots.
Today (Tuesday) I went to the doctor's office. The nurse put us in a conference room and told us the doctor would be right in. I was expecting Doctor B, but in walked Doctor A. As luck would have it she had just returned from maternity leave yesterday. She did a pelvic exam and confirmed that I was, in fact, having a miscarriage. She tried to do an ultrasound and said the same thing the ER doctors had said to me "Your bladder is too full". The husband and I explained that I had just gone to the bathroom and that we had the same problem in the ER. She had this look on her face like a light bulb had gone off. She started to take some measurements on the ultrasound screen and found out that I had a good sized cyst on my ovary (AGAIN) that was pressing on my bladder. I had been feeling extremely bloated lately. I had even told the husband that it felt like There was an over filled balloon in my abdomen and that I felt like I wanted to stick a needle in it to let all of the air out . I asked the doctor if the cyst could be causing my bloating she said "Absolutely, it can make you feel like you have an overfilled water balloon inside of you".
At least I had an explanation for that.
After reviewing my chart Doctor A told us some very interesting stuff.
Apparently the first pregnancy might have been a partial molar pregnancy. After you have a molar pregnancy your HCG levels are supposed to be monitored. You are not supposed to try to get pregnant again until your HCG levels reach zero. Molar pregnancies can cause your HCG levels to become abnormally high which means that even if you get your period you might still have elevated HCG levels. Doctor B never did a follow up with me and never tested my HCG levels. Also, it is recommended that you wait AT LEAST two cycles (after a molar pregnancy or a miscarriage) before you start trying to get pregnant again. Doctor B told us we could start trying after my first period.
Basically, Doctor B fucked up big time. Doctor A said that this pregnancy probably got messed up because it was too soon after the first pregnancy and my HCG levels probably never were at zero. If we had waited another month everything probably would have been fine.
If my husband didn't work at the same hospital and if Doctor B wasn't in the same practice as Doctor A (who will be my doctor from now on)we would SERIOUSLY consider suing.
I now have to wait another three months before I can start trying again.
I'm SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED, especially because if I had had the proper care, this probably wouldn't have happened.
As for the cyst, I will have another ultrasound next week. They will continue to monitor the cyst and if it doesn't shrink they might have to perform surgery to remove it.
I'm really hoping that I don't have to have surgery (again). Between me, my father, and my inlaws, my husband and I have endured THIRTEEN surgeries in the past three years. I think we've reached our quota.
I know there are people in the world who are worse off than me, but I can't help but feel like the universe is taking a gigantic crap on me.
*I apologize if this post has typos and is all over the place. It's 12:17 in the morning and I'm EXHAUSTED.
*Update: The Sarcastic Journalist wrote a post about miscarriage for Blogging Baby. She was nice enough to ask me if I would mind if she wrote the article, and she listened to what I had to say on the subject. Read the article here.
I spent several hours in the emergency room yesterday.
I was/am five weeks pregnant.
Yesterday I woke up with a horrible feeling.
I even said to my husband "I'm scared I'm going to have a miscarriage today. If I can just get through today, then I'll be OK."
Sure enough, at about 2pm, I peed and there was bright red blood.
I came out of the bathroom and said to my husband "OK, it's time to go to the hospital."
He couldn't believe that I had known.
To make a long story short-
I either had a chemical pregnancy, which is when the egg is fertilized but never fully implants in the uterus, or I am having a miscarriage.
I have to go to the doctor either today or tomorrow for some more testing.
I'm so angry. I'm angry at the universe (haven't I been through enough?) and angry at myself for getting excited about being pregnant, again.
I'm so exhausted, but I'm trying to soldier on because the alternative is me falling into a deep depression.
I am making a promise right now to you, my husband, and myself, that I will do whatever it takes to fight the depression.