It's been a crazy effin few weeks ya'll.
For those that don't know, we lost the baby a few weeks ago. Since then, I've had way too much contact with medical professionals. Because last week I had a migraine and they did blood work cause it was my first migraine ever. Which is fine.
Guess what they found? HCG. HCG makes makes the line on a pregnancy test light up. Evidence of baby on board. Only I lost the baby a few weeks ago. So this is leftover HCG. Which is oddly comforting. So, in the end, it was a false positive.
But this false positive HCG made all the MDs light up. And they kept wanting to measure it to make sure it's going down. To make sure I'm not pregnant any more. They kept wanting to draw blood work. Which was fine. I went back to the office and they drew blood. And guess what they found? The HCG is going down. Two tests to establish the obvious.
Then they called and said they just want to make sure, so can I get another blood test.
Then I said no.
Enough going to that stupid women's clinic. Enough heading to the bathroom for urine tests and me crying in the bathroom because there is where I learned I lost the baby. Enough getting my blood drawn. Enough getting examined down there. Enough having my body touched with latex gloves. Even listening to the results over the phone. Enough, ENOUGH, ENOUGH!!!
It's not cancer. It's a miscarriage. Healing from this will no longer be measured by their medical expertise, but by my emotional recovery.
So I called the nurse and told her no. And she said, well the doctor wants, and I said there is too much psychological impact to these tests and I just can't do it anymore. And she pushed a bit more and I kind of lost it. Then I cried and she got all comforting, which I.did.not.want. I just wanted to hang up. And I thanked her for her care and ended the call politely.
Then I cried a bit. Squeeze it out I say. Let the emotions flow. Hurting is part of the healing. And healing from a miscarriage is healthy.
Because it's not cancer. It's a miscarriage. The baby was not meant to be. And my recovery will no longer be measured by lab tests, but by my emotional state.
Which is actually going quite well.
My body is my own again. I'm feeling taller. Mr. Hall and I are smiling again. I am starting to feel human. Back on the weight watchers. Feeling healthy. Back in my size ten pantalones.
And I fantasize. Healthy, rich fantasies.
I envision the day I'll announce I'm five months pregnant. I'll type it in here. Or maybe we'll just wait and tell nobody until I'm ready to pop.
These fantasies are savory.
Because I'm not an empty vessel. I'm not alone here. I'm healing and doing well. Waiting until we can try again.
Which will be sooner than I think.
Until then. Back off you medical doctors and you're wanting tests. This is my body and we are doing just fine!
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