Recovery..
I want to write everything I think, every moment, every day. The truth of the matter is.. I've fallen away from being able to express anything. I can hardly get out the necessary words to even try. Just.. that's the sort of depression I've fallen into. I can function; I work, I get stuff organized, I spend time with my man, I care for my pets, etc. I just cannot, for the life of me, put down words for anything. I miss RPing. I miss the freedom of 'becoming' someone else, immersing myself into someone else's life. But I just can't make myself. Not really. Although, the last few RPs I wrote just a few days ago.. I can't describe how awesome it felt to 'be' that character again. To push her forward into the new direction of her story arc.
And it's not just in the RPG world am I lacking in writing anything down. It's on FB as well, and even worse, I can't bring myself to communicate with my friends.. you know, the real people who actually give a damn about me? Yeah, no. I feel absolutely awful not being able to, but I've long ago learned to just keep this drama to myself. Makes things easier for others.
Except it's killing me. Slowly, no doubt. Probably not as much as living in this world is killing me, but still, it's there.
I can pinpoint the very moment it all started. Okay, maybe not the moment, because to be completely honest, my memory sucks. But definitely the day. Can't wipe it from memory. Not a chance.
Let's back up a little, though.
And here, I should place some sort of warning for people who don't wanna read long-winded stories, or hear about my ridiculousness, or want to chance the possibility of something TMI. If you're one of those types of people, off you go.
The first week of June, I realized I was supposed to have gotten my period around Memorial Day, but I had yet to get it. Now, my schedule is slightly erratic depending on stress levels and whatnot. It's usually a few days off one way or the other. However, never a week late. So I was pretty confident that I was pregnant. A home test confirmed it, and about a week later, a professional one set it in stone.
So there I was, six weeks along, finding myself getting sick over the smell of beef and craving potatoes like crazy. Not to mention the usual 'oh fuck, we need better jobs, we need a house of our own' etc. But with that was the realization that we were about to become parents, and the excitement that comes with that was infectious.
And then, I started having light spotting. I thought nothing of it, not really.. we researched a great deal, and it seemed normal to do so. Of course, I couldn't do anything anyway; I hadn't gotten my Medicaid yet in the mail, nor could I take time off work. But come the two week mark, I was starting to get a little concerned though it was never anything more than spotting.
June 30th hits. And forever, I will always feel so guilty, no matter that I had no control over this.. but it was James' birthday on top of everything else, so I can't help but feel terrible for it.
Anyway..
It was about 12:30 am. I had to use the bathroom. Afterward, a pain started in my abdomen. Nothing major the first little while; it felt like cramping from needing to use the bathroom again in a more urgent manner. I tried, but nothing. I went back to bed, since I had to be in to work the next morning. But the pain only got more intense. Laying out straight was painful, but sitting up was excruciating. By 1 am, I was out in the living room on the couch, trying my damnedest to not scream, because it's 1 in the morning and people are sleeping, and not to cry because I hate crying and I do too freaking much of it. I tried to sleep, hoping that the pain would simply go away once I was unconscious, and I could go about my day.
By 2:30 am, the pain was even worse, and I came to the conclusion that after I got James on his way to work, I'd be heading to the ER. I was in and out by then, getting as much rest as I could. Sometime between then and 5, I made it back to bed, and continued the same routine. The alarms went off, and James was up getting ready for work. I finally lost it. I was bawling, I couldn't hide the pain anymore, and I still kept telling James to go to work, that I'd get to the ER and everything would be fine. Yeah, I didn't believe that, and neither did he.
He called into work, and we tried to call my boss, but by the time we left, never reached him. Anyway, we took off for the hospital, which is about a 15-20 minute drive out. And like I said, sitting made it soo much worse, and on top of that, we live on a dirt road full of rocks and potholes, so the getting out was even more painful than usual.
The rest of this might be jumbled. I don't have the best memory as I've already stated, and by this time, I felt out of my mind, away from myself, and all that.
We got to the ER, had to fill out forms, wait to be talked to, etc. Sitting in the waiting room chairs just plain sucked. I felt ridiculous, and I probably looked it too. I remember it hurt to get dressed. I put on work clothes; I was still under the impression I'd possibly still make it for a few hours of my shift. So there was that. Anywho, we got taken back to the ER room, and I remember there being like.. three different shift nurses that came in through the time I was there. They were all fantastically nice. I recall being asked the same questions over and over and over again. I think after the doctor came in to take my information and ask me questions, I had to change into one of those gowns, pee in a cup, and wait. Finally reached my boss too, so that was a slight relief; at least he knew I wouldn't be in on time. They wanted to do an ultrasound to see if they could find the problem, so I had to drink a ton of water in a short amount of time. Ugh.
Once the technician came on, I was wheeled over to the ultrasound room. Apparently, I still hadn't drank enough water, despite the fact I felt like I was gonna drown. I thought sitting hurt like a bitch; that wand pressing down on my abdomen nearly killed me. It lasted too long, if you ask me. But then they did the inside one, which while invasive wasn't nearly as painful. I got wheeled back to the room, to wait some more.
After what seemed like forever, the OBGYN on call came in. She sat down, and told me it was an ectopic pregnancy. Eight weeks along, and if I remember right, was surprising that it hadn't ruptured sooner. It had even developed a little heartbeat. Surgery was necessary. So once an OR was available, they'd wheel me down and get started. I'd be losing half of my reproductive system 'to make sure another ectopic wouldn't happen again in the scar tissue' or some such.
Did you know you could die from an ectopic pregnancy? I didn't. Not till two weeks later, at my post-op checkup. That's a whole other can of worms right there..
But anywho, boss was informed I'd not be coming to work that day. Nor for about a week. Got hooked up to an IV drip. Removed jewelry (haven't had a tongue ring in since). And waited.
All through this whole ordeal, James was fantastic. I was a blubbering idiot, so upset over losing this baby to begin with, but for it to happen on his birthday of all days.. ugh. It might have been a fetus to anyone else, to those doctors and nurses and staff, but to me, it was already my baby, in my arms and all that whimsical nonsense. So it felt like I was doing twice the damage in one fell swoop - the baby, and James. Anyway, he did his best to keep being a goof, trying to make me laugh (which hurt, and I told him so many times not to, but it was what I needed so he didn't listen), just trying to be the light side of the dark..
It definitely gets fuzzy around here, but I remember being wheeled down to the OR section, being asked a ton of questions all over again. The OR staff coming in to introduce themselves, the anastegialogist (or however it's spelt) coming to talk to me.. James had turned on the tv, and put something on.. Charmed? Supernatural? Something.. maybe actually just a random cable channel that played music or something. Blah. By now, the meds were super kicking in.. I vaguely recall being rolled out toward the OR.. and talking to the anastegialogist again.. And then the next thing I knew, I was groggily asking one of the nurses if we'd met before, and I think I said thank you to her without waiting for an answer.
Not sure how long after that, I was waking up in the recovery room. Groggy as hell, and a whole new set of pains. Lots of return visits from the OR nurses. Sit up slowly. Try not to overdo. Etc. Time for release now that I was mostly awake. I remember James having gone out to buy me some flip flops since I'd not be able to tie my own shoes for a few days. They were too small, but they would do till I got home. I love him more for trying, and remembering that my shoe size is abnormally small (trust me when I say abnormally). Wheeled out after a final vitals reading. Getting into the truck sucked, but James never complained about having to help my ass in or out. Stopped at Walgreens for hydrocodone (fantastic stuff) before heading back home, finally. By then, it was afternoon time, I think. Again, my memory is infinitely more fuzzy due to the grogginess of the OR drugs.
Lots of sleeping, and pains and bruises, medicine for the next few days. I remember my home nurses, my black and white male kittens we call CB and Seven, were almost always nearby. So was James, when he was home. My poor puppy Cody couldn't understand why he couldn't snuggle as hard into my stomach when I could recline out on the couch.
To be honest, this whole recollection of the day in question is just my way of coming to better terms with what happened. To realize that it was a choice of one life being destroyed, or two. Lessen the guilt I've been carrying around with me for the past 3 months.
It doesn't keep me from being extremely bitter about friends and family announcing their pregnancies or births. I hate being on Facebook now, because it seems everyone is expecting, or has recently delivered. It makes me wanna stab things, and I hate that feeling. It's not their fault. It's not my fault. It's just the way things went.
And I absolutely hate the looks of pity. I cannot stand another person saying 'it was meant to be this way, it was God's plan' or some other ridiculous bs. I don't care. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But I did everything right - and that's the only consolation I can take really from this whole ordeal. Because maybe there's always the next time. Maybe. But with only half a working system, my chances of actually getting pregnant again are much more slim than they used to be, which were already pretty slight as it was.
Enough self-pity, though. I'm hoping to get better through this. With us moving into our own house, into new surroundings and new situations, here's hoping for a fresh start.
I'm sorry to everyone I've ignored or shoved aside since then. I'm sorry to my friends that I've neglected so terribly. I'm sorry to everyone that's announced their baby's birth or that they're pregnant and I haven't responded, because every life created is a miracle. I'm so sorry to James for every stupid mood swing I've had and everything I've bitched about. Here's hoping it all gets better from here. I love you.
Here ends my self-therapy.
And it's not just in the RPG world am I lacking in writing anything down. It's on FB as well, and even worse, I can't bring myself to communicate with my friends.. you know, the real people who actually give a damn about me? Yeah, no. I feel absolutely awful not being able to, but I've long ago learned to just keep this drama to myself. Makes things easier for others.
Except it's killing me. Slowly, no doubt. Probably not as much as living in this world is killing me, but still, it's there.
I can pinpoint the very moment it all started. Okay, maybe not the moment, because to be completely honest, my memory sucks. But definitely the day. Can't wipe it from memory. Not a chance.
Let's back up a little, though.
And here, I should place some sort of warning for people who don't wanna read long-winded stories, or hear about my ridiculousness, or want to chance the possibility of something TMI. If you're one of those types of people, off you go.
The first week of June, I realized I was supposed to have gotten my period around Memorial Day, but I had yet to get it. Now, my schedule is slightly erratic depending on stress levels and whatnot. It's usually a few days off one way or the other. However, never a week late. So I was pretty confident that I was pregnant. A home test confirmed it, and about a week later, a professional one set it in stone.
So there I was, six weeks along, finding myself getting sick over the smell of beef and craving potatoes like crazy. Not to mention the usual 'oh fuck, we need better jobs, we need a house of our own' etc. But with that was the realization that we were about to become parents, and the excitement that comes with that was infectious.
And then, I started having light spotting. I thought nothing of it, not really.. we researched a great deal, and it seemed normal to do so. Of course, I couldn't do anything anyway; I hadn't gotten my Medicaid yet in the mail, nor could I take time off work. But come the two week mark, I was starting to get a little concerned though it was never anything more than spotting.
June 30th hits. And forever, I will always feel so guilty, no matter that I had no control over this.. but it was James' birthday on top of everything else, so I can't help but feel terrible for it.
Anyway..
It was about 12:30 am. I had to use the bathroom. Afterward, a pain started in my abdomen. Nothing major the first little while; it felt like cramping from needing to use the bathroom again in a more urgent manner. I tried, but nothing. I went back to bed, since I had to be in to work the next morning. But the pain only got more intense. Laying out straight was painful, but sitting up was excruciating. By 1 am, I was out in the living room on the couch, trying my damnedest to not scream, because it's 1 in the morning and people are sleeping, and not to cry because I hate crying and I do too freaking much of it. I tried to sleep, hoping that the pain would simply go away once I was unconscious, and I could go about my day.
By 2:30 am, the pain was even worse, and I came to the conclusion that after I got James on his way to work, I'd be heading to the ER. I was in and out by then, getting as much rest as I could. Sometime between then and 5, I made it back to bed, and continued the same routine. The alarms went off, and James was up getting ready for work. I finally lost it. I was bawling, I couldn't hide the pain anymore, and I still kept telling James to go to work, that I'd get to the ER and everything would be fine. Yeah, I didn't believe that, and neither did he.
He called into work, and we tried to call my boss, but by the time we left, never reached him. Anyway, we took off for the hospital, which is about a 15-20 minute drive out. And like I said, sitting made it soo much worse, and on top of that, we live on a dirt road full of rocks and potholes, so the getting out was even more painful than usual.
The rest of this might be jumbled. I don't have the best memory as I've already stated, and by this time, I felt out of my mind, away from myself, and all that.
We got to the ER, had to fill out forms, wait to be talked to, etc. Sitting in the waiting room chairs just plain sucked. I felt ridiculous, and I probably looked it too. I remember it hurt to get dressed. I put on work clothes; I was still under the impression I'd possibly still make it for a few hours of my shift. So there was that. Anywho, we got taken back to the ER room, and I remember there being like.. three different shift nurses that came in through the time I was there. They were all fantastically nice. I recall being asked the same questions over and over and over again. I think after the doctor came in to take my information and ask me questions, I had to change into one of those gowns, pee in a cup, and wait. Finally reached my boss too, so that was a slight relief; at least he knew I wouldn't be in on time. They wanted to do an ultrasound to see if they could find the problem, so I had to drink a ton of water in a short amount of time. Ugh.
Once the technician came on, I was wheeled over to the ultrasound room. Apparently, I still hadn't drank enough water, despite the fact I felt like I was gonna drown. I thought sitting hurt like a bitch; that wand pressing down on my abdomen nearly killed me. It lasted too long, if you ask me. But then they did the inside one, which while invasive wasn't nearly as painful. I got wheeled back to the room, to wait some more.
After what seemed like forever, the OBGYN on call came in. She sat down, and told me it was an ectopic pregnancy. Eight weeks along, and if I remember right, was surprising that it hadn't ruptured sooner. It had even developed a little heartbeat. Surgery was necessary. So once an OR was available, they'd wheel me down and get started. I'd be losing half of my reproductive system 'to make sure another ectopic wouldn't happen again in the scar tissue' or some such.
Did you know you could die from an ectopic pregnancy? I didn't. Not till two weeks later, at my post-op checkup. That's a whole other can of worms right there..
But anywho, boss was informed I'd not be coming to work that day. Nor for about a week. Got hooked up to an IV drip. Removed jewelry (haven't had a tongue ring in since). And waited.
All through this whole ordeal, James was fantastic. I was a blubbering idiot, so upset over losing this baby to begin with, but for it to happen on his birthday of all days.. ugh. It might have been a fetus to anyone else, to those doctors and nurses and staff, but to me, it was already my baby, in my arms and all that whimsical nonsense. So it felt like I was doing twice the damage in one fell swoop - the baby, and James. Anyway, he did his best to keep being a goof, trying to make me laugh (which hurt, and I told him so many times not to, but it was what I needed so he didn't listen), just trying to be the light side of the dark..
It definitely gets fuzzy around here, but I remember being wheeled down to the OR section, being asked a ton of questions all over again. The OR staff coming in to introduce themselves, the anastegialogist (or however it's spelt) coming to talk to me.. James had turned on the tv, and put something on.. Charmed? Supernatural? Something.. maybe actually just a random cable channel that played music or something. Blah. By now, the meds were super kicking in.. I vaguely recall being rolled out toward the OR.. and talking to the anastegialogist again.. And then the next thing I knew, I was groggily asking one of the nurses if we'd met before, and I think I said thank you to her without waiting for an answer.
Not sure how long after that, I was waking up in the recovery room. Groggy as hell, and a whole new set of pains. Lots of return visits from the OR nurses. Sit up slowly. Try not to overdo. Etc. Time for release now that I was mostly awake. I remember James having gone out to buy me some flip flops since I'd not be able to tie my own shoes for a few days. They were too small, but they would do till I got home. I love him more for trying, and remembering that my shoe size is abnormally small (trust me when I say abnormally). Wheeled out after a final vitals reading. Getting into the truck sucked, but James never complained about having to help my ass in or out. Stopped at Walgreens for hydrocodone (fantastic stuff) before heading back home, finally. By then, it was afternoon time, I think. Again, my memory is infinitely more fuzzy due to the grogginess of the OR drugs.
Lots of sleeping, and pains and bruises, medicine for the next few days. I remember my home nurses, my black and white male kittens we call CB and Seven, were almost always nearby. So was James, when he was home. My poor puppy Cody couldn't understand why he couldn't snuggle as hard into my stomach when I could recline out on the couch.
To be honest, this whole recollection of the day in question is just my way of coming to better terms with what happened. To realize that it was a choice of one life being destroyed, or two. Lessen the guilt I've been carrying around with me for the past 3 months.
It doesn't keep me from being extremely bitter about friends and family announcing their pregnancies or births. I hate being on Facebook now, because it seems everyone is expecting, or has recently delivered. It makes me wanna stab things, and I hate that feeling. It's not their fault. It's not my fault. It's just the way things went.
And I absolutely hate the looks of pity. I cannot stand another person saying 'it was meant to be this way, it was God's plan' or some other ridiculous bs. I don't care. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But I did everything right - and that's the only consolation I can take really from this whole ordeal. Because maybe there's always the next time. Maybe. But with only half a working system, my chances of actually getting pregnant again are much more slim than they used to be, which were already pretty slight as it was.
Enough self-pity, though. I'm hoping to get better through this. With us moving into our own house, into new surroundings and new situations, here's hoping for a fresh start.
I'm sorry to everyone I've ignored or shoved aside since then. I'm sorry to my friends that I've neglected so terribly. I'm sorry to everyone that's announced their baby's birth or that they're pregnant and I haven't responded, because every life created is a miracle. I'm so sorry to James for every stupid mood swing I've had and everything I've bitched about. Here's hoping it all gets better from here. I love you.
Here ends my self-therapy.