Happy New Year

I feel like I should check in, even though I'm staring at the blank page not knowing what to write.

First of all, everyone has been really nice. I've gotten a handful of unintentionally insensitive comments ("but you were never actually pregnant, right?"), which I have to let go because I know I'm being oversensitive. I'm amazed how many women this has happened to. I think I'm just used to the reproductive powerhouses (and problem-free mothers-- yes, I am talking about breastfeeding again) in my family. But other women are coming out of the woodwork to tell me their stories. More than one person used the phrase, "when I had mine..." as opposed to "when I had one..." Which kind of sounds like "when it was my turn..." And that was really helpful. Speaking of breastfeeding, I realized recently that this isn't nearly as hard as that was. Miscarriage sucks, and it's hard, and sad. But that? Destroyed me. What. I know I'm crazy and the only person in history who ever took it that hard. I'm not going to apologize, because I've tried really hard to control my insanity over that. No luck.

This has certainly been educational. It never occurred to me that a miscarriage is actually a long process. Before, the word always conjured up an image of a woman crying in a hospital gown, having passed a softball of gore (for lack of a better description)-- a singular event. But in my case, it's been five days of first-day period (finally tapering off now). Every two hours or so, I get to deal with it all over again, with cramps in between. There's lots of showering. I'm so glad I'm out of school this week.

Last week, when it first happened and I still felt level, I was warned by my doctor and my dad that I might get The Crazies later on. I dutifully nodded and thanked them and went on my way, all business. Then out of the blue, I turned into a postpartum adolescent with PMS, and my head spun around a few times. It's like being possessed. Crying for no reason, four or five times a day, sometimes so hard I have to pull the car over. And why? *shrugs* I dunno. Yesterday it was because I had left Nick with Sascha for two hours while I went to the doctor, and I felt guilty for being gone so long. And because I'd forgotten a few things at the store. I cried like the world was ending.

Nick has been a saint. Saying all the right things, doing all the right things, letting me put my hot, ugly, mucus-stringy face into his sweatshirt to sob like a child. Taking me into Boston for a day so we could walk and talk for hours. Basically being a single parent to Sascha. I'll never be as good a spouse to him as he is to me.

Switching gears for a moment: I have to bitch about my doctor experience yesterday. First of all, did you know that all maternity-related visits are free, but if you lose the baby, you pay a co-pay? "Pregnant? How lovely, go right in... oh, you lost it? That'll be $15." It's the very definition of insult to injury. Then, the doctor was running behind, so I waited an hour to see him. The nurse was wonderful, but when the doctor finally came in, I felt very rushed. He apologized but didn't explain why he was late, which would have helped. I mean, it was a full hour. I could tell he was trying to be sensitive and sympathetic (after all, my dad is his boss) but he couldn't disguise his urgency-- cutting off my sentences, that kind of thing. I was pissed. I know that many doctors are brilliant, but sometimes they lack social skills in return for book-smarts. Of course, I'm so insane right now that I don't know if it's just me. Maybe he's the greatest guy ever, but because I got a bad vibe while in a crazy state? I caught him on a bad day? I was still pissed about the co-pay? I was worried about digging my car out from the blizzard while I waited an hour for a five-minute appointment? Maybe I'm being too hard on him, but if I were a man in this situation, would I still be reflecting inward?

The upside is that I decided that I definitely don't want him as my regular doctor next time I get pregnant. I want A WOMAN. This guy can do the surgery, that's fine, but for the monthly prenatal visits? I want a woman. It's called prenatal care for a reason.

Anyway, happy new year. Last night we did the same thing we always do: Twilight Zone marathon on Sci-Fi, and in bed by 10 (okay, 9:30-- shut up). Every year I resolve to get in shape and be nicer. The getting in shape will be interesting. I've been in a bingeing contest with myself for the past week, and I don't think crying burns that many calories. The be nicer part? Oy. I try every year, but...

PS, the tuna was amazing. Our friend suggested we order one or two for the table, and I told him I was getting my own. He made some crack about me not sharing it, and I told him that if his fork wandered over to my plate he'd be pulling back a bloody stump. It was a fun night. I had a glass of 20-year port with dessert. Ahhh.