I Was Right.

I haven’t written in a while. Dealing with the miscarriage was a bit more than I’d bargained for. It’s been a roller coaster of emotions, and I’ve clung to Justin or shunned everyone for the entire ride. Nothing meant to anyone – it’s just how I deal with this shit.

I went to see my regular internist – FINALLY – for the first time since I found out I was pregnant. She’d been following my chart through medical records, since I called to tell them I was pregnant, and I could tell she was just as exhausted as I felt when she came into the room. We sat down and chatted, I told her everything of what had happened, with the hormone cream, the pregnancy, the first miscarriage, then the second, followed finally by the D&C, and the fact that I will never, in my born days, return to UAB OB for services, because I’ve never heard another human being, much less someone I’m paying for answers, say “I don’t know,” as much as my OB did. Granted, I have the weirdest body on earth, so there’s obviously some sketch going on in there.

But come on. I’m PAYING to come see you. The least you can do is throw me a bone, like a speculation or some shit. PRETEND like you’re the doctor in the room. I’ll take anything aside from shruggy shoulders.

I’ll take this doctor and that instrument over my OB and one more of her “I don’t know” diagnoses.

So, Dr. C-H and I talked for upwards of an hour, and it was rejuvenating. I told her that I’d told OB that I did hormone cream and got pregnant. OB’s response: “Well, I don’t know if that’s what it was.” Me: “HA! No, I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m TELLING YOU WHAT HAPPENED.” OB: “I don’t know.” Me: *Facewindow*

The danger of docs is that a good many of them trust that because you haven’t been to “doctor school,” you have absolutely NO IDEA what you’re talking about, even though it’s YOUR body, and you’ve managed to live with it for your entire life. Like, no one else has inhabited it. No one else truly knows how much unprotected sex I’ve had and what a freakish anomaly this pregnancy was. And I’m FINE with it. I just wanted someone with schooled eyes to help me along – not the n00b they pulled in off the street, who’s name wasn’t even on the business cards. If ANYONE needed experienced hands and eyes, it was this nervous old lady with first-time pregnancy twins.

So, I ranted and cried and laughed with Dr C-H. She’s back from her double mastectomy, radiation and boob job, with her fashionable new short ‘do that looks AWESOME, and I couldn’t stop hugging her, because I’m truly relieved to be back under her care. I told her that if I ever get pregnant again, she’s just going to have to get the ok from the Board to treat me, even if she treats no one else, because my experience was truly horrendous.

She told me that I was right about everything that I told OB. She even said, “Did you not tell her that you have medical knowledge?” I said, “What does it matter? She wouldn’t listen to a thing I told her.” She put her head in her hands, shook it, grabbed my arm, and we moved on.

She did a full CBC, which magically came back as normal, gave me a new regimen of vitamins, as well as started me on a low dose of Celexa, since that’s been the only thing in my past that’s ever helped me. And instead of taking OB’s approach with “Wait at least two cycles before you get pregnant again,” she wisely said, “I want to see you get pregnant again…but let’s take the initiative to fix some stuff (talking about vitamin levels, fatigue and depression), before we EVEN traverse that road again.” THANK YOU.

What I’m ever going to do when we move, I don’t know…except pack her up and take her with me. It’s so rare to find a doctor with whom you really connect and to whom you can talk honestly. For everyone else, I feel like I’m just a number, a paycheck, someone to fill their daily quota.

To the good doctors out there, to the ones who really are in it because they want to help people – thank you. You have no idea the trust we put in you, and how fantastic it is that you regularly uphold that trust. You give me hope in medicine for the future.

Thank God I have a doctor who actually knows me better than I know myself. Thanks for listening.

She rules.

Let me get my luggage OFF the crazy train, please.

Had my 4-hour psych evaluation yesterday.

Good news: I’m not as crazy as I was anticipating/fearing. The tv doesn’t tell me what to do, although my pets ARE pretty bossy…but they’re not telling me to kill anyone, a la Son of Sam.

Bad news: Postpartum depression, sans baby. I’ve been turfed to another clinic, AND it appears that antidepressants don’t work well for people like me. But at least I can get into therapy and get my brain sorted out.

I’m the kind of person who thrives on constant change and learning. But I’ve had a considerable amount of insurmountable lack of motivation (NO-tivation, as I like to call it), so I’m butting heads…with myself. My concentration and memory are so off, I couldn’t remember which hand I wrote with. I came in to work this morning and put the pen in my left hand and attempted to write, before my brain went, “Wait…something’s wrong…”

The other issue is I’ve officially started my THIRD PERIOD for the month, since the miscarriage/D&C. Yes, I have a call in to the doctor.

Everyone will have to pardon me for being a shut in. Seriously. I’m having way more stuff going on than I think is necessary for one person to handle. But in this attempt at struggling publicly with my miscarriage and depression, I just wanted to document – whatever you’re going through, you’re not alone. We should all get together and hug it out.

A Few Seconds of Detox

I’ve been entirely too stressed lately. I needed to see this. I need to be reminded that even though it doesn’t pay the bills, it IS the simple things that keep us going and keep us together. Thanks, Amber, for inviting us, for being there, and for recording the moments I’m liable to forget. ❤

I just have to remember to breathe.

Better and Better

It’s taken some time to get my spark back, after the miscarriage. I truly didn’t expect something of this nature to not only pull the wind from my sails, but nearly remove my sails completely.

I had my final followup with the OB today. I teared up, when I checked “no” on the box stating “ultrasound today.”

She said I did really well during the surgery, considering I had pretty much done all the work for her the evening prior, as my body attempted to maniacally shed itself of what was no longer to be. She said even the scrub techs remarked at how I was one of the shortest procedures ever. I said, “Well, I just wanted to help.”

She also complimented me on how much better I seem to be doing, considering where I was mentally a few weeks ago. It’s amazing, the resilience we display under such duress, even though sometimes it takes us a long time to heal, some of us longer than others.

She told me that I needed to “wait a few cycles before planning on getting pregnant again.” I said, “Well, considering this one wasn’t planned at all, we’ve bought ourselves some time, so we’re going to be waiting a little longer than a few months.”

I told her that this has created a great bit of apprehension in me about sex, concern that it will somehow inadvertently rip out my insides. She said that’s a completely normal feeling to have, that pain and binding up of muscles due to stress. Then she laughed, as if to say tongue-in-cheek, “Stress? What’s that? Who the hell could be stressed from all you’ve just been through?”

I really have appreciated her honesty and candor through all of this. There were times I became almost uncontrollably frustrated, because sometimes, she just didn’t have answers. But I chalk that up to being the lucky owner of “my body.” I mean, it’s a fucking cosmic miracle in itself. Thirty people in the room can get a runny nose, and I’ll be the one to land myself in the hospital with the flu and bilateral pneumonia. No matter how well I eat or how many vitamins I take, my body is bent on total self-destruction.

 

Aside from all that, I’m back to work as usual….or as usual as it can be. Justin’s parents are fighting and probably on the verge of getting divorced, which means Becky and I will be uprooted yet again. While I hate working in Pell City, I really hate discord and would prefer that all of this get worked out.

But her husband has that disease called “old white man,” so we can’t do things unless they’re his idea, or if you tell him he’s wrong about something, he’s not. Not really.

This is my regular state these days.

What’s really fun is being around both of them and being forced to awkwardly pretend that everything is fine and that he’s not cheating on his wife or being weird in any way. We haven’t confirmed any of this, but the signs are pretty blatant.

I set her up to see a therapist today, which I’ve been begging her to do for weeks. Because I told her that even if she can’t fix this, she needs to make sure that she’s taking care of herself. She was a basket case yesterday, and five time around marriages, where your husband is cheating on you, and you’re in business together – I have NO EXPERIENCE with that. I don’t mind talking about it (well, I do…), but this is something that requires a person with a whole different set of skills. I can talk depression, suicide, cheating (from my perspective), abusive relationships, being medicated, and being in and out of therapy for 15 years all day long.

This? Don’t know anything about this.

So, aside from being broke ALL THE FUCKING TIME, that’s what’s going on right now. I’m trying to get Justin motivated to find other work, because Robert’s supposed to be retiring in April, and I have a very strong feeling that Hardy won’t keep Justin on once Robert is gone. Which is fine – he doesn’t want to stay anyway. I just wanted to set us up to make a more major jump. But we’ll take what we can get right now.

Grammy’s finally out of the hospital from her last bout with her blood pressure, and she’s in the rehab facility, building up energy to go back home. I’m glad she’s back in town, and I’m glad she’s feeling better. Her blood pressure was crap this time, and it took them nearly three weeks for them to sort her meds out. As long as she’s not passing out all the time now, I’m good for that.

So much more to update on, but sadly, work requires my attention. More soon.

For some years now, I’d convinced myself that I didn’t want children, that I’d grown out of that “childish want” of wanting to be a young mom. I mean, I’m 36, so young is sort of on its way out.

 

And then it was upon me.

 

For those brief couple of weeks, I WAS a mom. We made a baby (-ies) from love, and while unexpected and frightening, the idea was slowly becoming more and more welcome in our lives.

 

And then he (they) were gone.

 

I’m bawling as I type this. I still don’t know if I’m processing this like I’m supposed to. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling, other than completely enveloped in sadness right now.

 

Regret.

Guilt.

Blame.

Did I do it?

No, you didn’t.

But what if…?

Stop saying that.

 

It’s constantly around me, and I don’t know how to deal. It was different when I peed on a stick and saw I was pregnant, then lost the first one six weeks in. But then I SAW IT. I saw it on the ultrasound, eight weeks in, and he was tiny and there and REAL. I saw his HEART BEAT. My one remaining passenger.

And then, he was gone.

I was given something I didn’t even know I wanted…and after I realized that wanted that tiny passenger more than anything in the world, he was gone.

 

 

I…don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

I can’t find all the pieces. Some of them are just gone.

Don’t Let Me Down

Good freaking riddance, 2013. Seriously. Don’t let my slamming the door on your legs repeatedly, to break them as you leave, stop you from going.

So, I didn’t mean to go this long without posting.

And I shouldn’t have, in light of everything that’s happened in the past month.

Suffice it to say that from December until today, our lives have been anything but calm and uneventful.

It (unknowingly) started sometime close to the end of October, with this:

Magical hormone cream.

Which then, on December 14th, resulted in this:

I’ll just leave this here.

Which, despite the cream, was not the intended effect. And exactly five days later, brought about a miscarriage, which landed me in the ER. A couple of days prior to that, I’d acquired the flu, which eventually lovingly settled in my chest and turned into raging bronchitis.

So, I was sick, bleeding, cramping, in pain, coughing, sneezing, and basically leaking from every orifice with every kind of fluid that can leave the body.

Despite all of that, on New Year’s Eve, this happened:

Yes, I’m in pajamas.

And I got this:

Handmade, completely recycled silver with a lab-made, conflict-free Moissanite stone. No orphans were used in the making of this ring, nor blood diamonds obtained. He done good.

So, last Thursday, we go for my followup ultrasound and to find out what’s to be done in light of the miscarriage…or so we thought.

 

And we see a bean. And a heartbeat. And a yolk sac. None of which were present the previous week.

At this point and after talking to a fair few moms who have gone through this very thing, I’m thinking I must have miscarried a twin, but the other is still there. I’m not making any assumptions, because I’ve been bleeding a LOT, cramping a LOT, and when we saw the heartbeat, it didn’t look too…I don’t know. It just looked slow. The OB said that every single thing I’ve gone through has been about as far from normal as a person can be, which is all kinds of encouraging.

This Friday is ultrasound #3. We shall see if anyone’s still in there, ordering more Ikea furniture.

And, yes, it’s probably not even the size of a pea, and if it decides to hang around, I’m almost 100% it’s (going to be) a boy. I wanted a baby chinchilla, but from what I’m reading, that’s pretty much impossible.

I’ll take 60, and thank you.

Anime-niac

I’ve been really obsessed with anime for a couple of years now. I don’t ever know if it’s good anime or bad. All I know is what I like. I do know I’m mostly annoyed when they haven’t English-dubbed stuff…which I know takes money and time that they’re not always wanting to put into it, so I understand. But for some reason, my brand new moronic tv won’t play the English translation in the bedroom, so I have to watch it in the living room (first world probs much?). Plus, I have this weird obsession with reading everything on the screen, so with non-dubs, I end up pausing and rewinding a lot.

I recently watched Angel Beats!, which was excellent. I’d like to watch it again. The story was incredibly touching. They begin by waking in the afterlife and continue on, until they’re able to come to terms with what’s keeping them there. Only then are they able to move on to whatever comes next. Their initial warring against God and Angel (Kanade) almost turned me off, because while I’m open and receptive on many fronts and with my friends, I’m not big on anti-God propaganda. It’s just not for me. I’m really glad I kept watching it, and I look forward to watching it a second time.

Irie, Sekine, Takamatsu, Matsushita, TK, Naoi, Otonashi, Yuri, Angel (Kanade), Noda, Hinata, Yui, Ōyama, Fujimaki, Iwasawa, Hisako, Takeyama, Shiina and Yusa of Angel Beats!

Another one I liked a lot was Fruits Basket, although Tohru’s insufferable necessity to apologize over everything got really old pretty quickly. I enjoyed the animal Zodiac curses on the Sohma family – that was something I’d never seen before. But I’ll take anything where people turn into animals. Mainly cats. Awesome.

Kyo, Tohru, Shiguro and Yuki of Fruits Basket

Serial Experiments Lain kicks some of the most severe ass an anime can kick, and I totally have Justin to thank for turning me on to this one. It was so engrossing, yet disturbing, I could only watch one or two episodes in a night. Even then, I’d find myself breathless after each episode. Beautifully animated, the story is anything but. I’m not even going to pretend to tell you what I think it’s about, because my description wouldn’t do it justice. Suffice it to say, you should watch it, because it’s truly a magnificent work.

Lain from Serial Experiments Lain.

One of my first and still running favorites is Ouran High School Host Club. This definitely was one with a really strange story, that when you say it out loud, it doesn’t make the first bit of sense. But it was super entertaining. I love cheesy teen things. And most of these are just that – cheesy, overplayed, majorly dramatic teen situations, hypersexualized beyond reality. And boobs.

Hikaru, Kaoru, Honey, Mori, Haruhi, Tamaki and Kyoya of Ouran High School Host Club.

And, OF COURSE, who could do without Fullmetal Alchemist! There is literally nothing I don’t like about this show. Years ago, I used to watch it on Adult Swim while I was falling asleep. A couple of years ago, when I got Netflix, I finally watched all 51 tv episodes in their entirety, and I bawled after every episode. I haven’t seen Brotherhood, Conqueror of Shamballa or Sacred Star of Milos yet, because they’re all non-dubbed (dammit). There’s also a 60-minute Brotherhood special floating around out there. This will also be my first real manga purchase, once I come into some funds. This story is wholly entertaining and fascinating to me. Plus, Alphonse likes kitties – me too, buddy. =^..^=

Edward and Alphonse Elric of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Come on – how can you not be in love with this? (by yodana of deviant art)

I’m currently in the middle of B Gata H Kei Yamada’s First Time. It’s…ok. I’m only seven episodes in to a 12 episode series. And while I can appreciate the various meanings lying underneath the surface (pressures for teens to be sexually active, sex doesn’t have to be void of love, multiple partners are overrated)…I’m pretty sure this was just an excuse to draw underage girls, boobs and upskirt shots. This started out as a manga, that was very much anticipated in the anime world, but received mixed reviews when it aired. It’s still…um, ok.

As for the translation of B Gata H Kei, this is what I found:
“B Gata H Kei is translated in the anime as B-type, H-style, in which the B would probably refer to Yamada’s cup size and H to her mindset (hentai),” which would make sense in regards to the show.

Still…it’s ok. =|

Aoi, Mami, Eros Deity, Takashi, Yamada, Kyoka, Miharu, Mayu of Yamada’s First Time.

And while these aren’t goofy teenage series, they absolutely warrant mention in this post.

Both Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are must sees. Princess Mononoke deals with the ever-present theme of the threat of the modern world on nature.

San and Moro no Kimi, surrounded by Kodama, in Princess Mononoke.

Spirited Away is more along the lines of a story of growing up; a sort of rite of passage, when Chihiro gets separated from her parents and is forced to battle evil in various situations to escape or survive. I’ll never understand why this one wasn’t more award-winning. To this day, this remains my favorite Miyazaki (right under Mononoke).

Haku (as a dragon) and Chihiro in Spirited Away.

Plus, how can you not think these guys are ridiculously adorable and want them as your friends?:

Boh (mouse), Yubaba’s bird (tiny crow), surrounded by Susuwatari, in Spirited Away.

I tried Ponyo, and while I think the story was good, I’m always annoyed at their use of American actors. In fact, I’m so perturbed, I have a hard time focusing on the movie, as was the case with Ponyo. I think there are a good many other people who would have been far superior to pretty much that entire cast. Not that they’re not good actors – just not in something as great as this. Please.

Ponyo and Sôsuke in – what else? – Ponyo.

I’d started watching Darker than Black, but for some reason, Netflix took that off “watch instantly,” which is aggravating, because I really liked the first three episodes. It’s also not available for download, so I guess I’m going to end up buying it. Which is fine, because considering I’m hooked three episodes in – I’ll totally take that action.

Misaki, Mao, Hei, Yin, Huang of Darker than Black.

I had to leave the pièce de résistance for last. Shin Chan has to be my very favorite anime I’ve ever seen. And if you haven’t seen it, you must have garnered by now that I like anime with a gross sense of humor, bordering on the black. It’s exactly that, and it’s unfailingly hilarious. (Another manga collection I must acquire.)

Misae, Hima, Shin, Whitey (Shiro) and Hiro Nohara of Shin Chan.

Adult Swim had picked it up a few years ago, but it only was English-dubbed for two seasons. What’s crazy is that there are 816 episodes, under its original name, Crayon Shin-chan. And what’s even crazier is Yoshito Usui, the creator of the Shin Chan manga, was killed in a fall during hiking in 2009. =( Mega sadness.

Still…there are episodes out there I haven’t seen, which I think is reason enough to keep up the English version. Whoever did the casting for the English version was a freaking genius. I’m also pretty dumbfounded by the fact that in most of the episodes, they don’t even know what they’re saying, as they don’t come with translations. So, in many of the episodes you watch, they’re not only out of sequential order, but they’re basically guessing at the script (as well as incorporating a lot of current events and pop cultural crap from the US). I don’t know who’s doing that was – FUNimation or what – but it’s pure comedic gold.

I still have an ever-growing list of anime to see. But I’ve been really enjoying what I’ve seen so far, so I’m going to keep chipping away as I run across them. It’s always exciting to find something I’ve never heard of, and it turns out I really get into it.

Speaking of chipping away, I started writing this post in the middle of an episode of Yamada, so now I have to finish what I started.
What were they talking about?
Oh right. Boobs.

Obligatory Couples Mountain Photo

We went to Cloudland Canyon in GA this past weekend with friends. I might post pictures later. There are entirely too many social forums to keep up with. I already need a nap after trying to make up a new fucking Twitter password today.

More like No-Shavember

And so it begins….

Are We There Yet?

So, I’m ready to move. I mean, I’ve been ready to move for probably 20+ years now. But I’m REALLY ready to move.

The new and future home of the Braxton-Horns.

Justin just talked to his attorney today about the car accident, and they’re going to proceed with case against Esurance. (Seriously, if you’re with Esurance, pull yourself out of the gutter and find someone decent.) I think they’re going to ask for $50k, but if we can get $5k from this, I’ll be happy. The sooner we can wrap up business here, the better.

Justin’s sent in his paperwork to RPD, and we’re going up there for an open house in two weeks, so we’re really excited about that. I can’t do anything for my stuff, until we’re closer to moving. My mom’s best friend helped me jazz up my resume, but I’ve got to bone up on my interviewing skills and whatnot. I feel really weird telling people I’ve been out of x-ray work for four years. I don’t feel like prefacing it with the sham my life was for the first decade or so after my mom passed away. But when you burn bridges, hell, you gotta start working your way out of the ashes somehow. I feel like my situation is right above being a felon, fresh out of prison, trying to take the right path in life. =\

I won’t hesitate to dress like a cat, to get this job.

Our familial situation is no better. My family, God love them, is just as scattered and selfish as ever. Justin’s family is just crazy. Or well, it’s like mine – half is sane and loving. The other half, well…I would never wish anything bad on my family. But apparently, the suggestion of reacquainting yourself with anything within the realm of moderate rationality is insulting. I just heard from my uncle after months, and I was honest with him and told him that Raleigh is my clean break of this. I love my family, and I always will, but I can’t be involved anymore. I can’t be a part of the drama. Mom could handle it, because somehow, she was able to manage all of that. I feel like the older we all get, the less I know these people who were my life growing up. Justin is my family now. My friends who love me are my family now. And I’ve accepted that people come into and out of your life as they were meant to. It’s all just a part of what happens. You choose not to stay together or act as a family should – that’s your decision. And I’m not my mom. I can’t single-handedly hold my family together. It’s not that I don’t care. In fact, it’s far more deeply-seated than that. Maybe I’ll be able to address that once I find peace in my life with Justin, and hopefully it happens soon after we’re gone from here.

What is this Déjà vu crap?

As for his family, well, the fact remains that the only way we’re going to find peace from his mom and stepdad (primarily his mom) is to create physical distance, and I’m pretty sure I’ve already mentioned all this. It was a mistake for me to work for her. And he’s doing all he can to hang on by his toenails, as he endures working with his stepdad on a daily basis. They constantly infect our lives, without our permission, and that’s the absolute one thing that you can do to me, that will cause me to run in the clear, opposite direction.

Last week, she paid to have my car fixed. As benevolent and kind as that might sound, it’s anything but. It’s a “life debt.” It comes with the promise that she will attempt to own me now. I flew into a rage when she told me, and I told Justin that she’d do well to never expect repayment for that, because I refuse. I’m an adult, and I can handle my own issues. Yes, I appreciate help, but only at my request. As with a sociopath, though, it’s all about winning the game, and the fact that she got a reaction out of me (which normally, she never does), she won that round.

This would be my life, if we lived any closer to them. Doris Roberts is awesome. Justin’s mom – notsomush.

I put a lot of stock in my independence and the fact that I’ve somehow managed to keep myself alive for the past 14 years. I’ll not have someone swoop in and take that away from me, because she’s “a mom.” She’s no more a mother to Justin than I am to this garbage can sitting next to me. And I do rue the day that I’m going to unload on this family, because I know it’s going to happen, and it’s going to be UGLY.

“GIMME BACK MY SOUL, YOU METH-MOUTHED CUR!”

I have serious control issues in my life. Most of them, I’ve been able to let go of gracefully. I’ve been able to somewhat accept that I don’t have control over every, single, solitary aspect of my life.

But THIS?? Oh, Lord. No. Absolutely not. Especially when it concerns someone else’s bitch-ass mother. I will maul you like a wildebeest on crack if you try to manipulate me to benefit yourself or your cause (or, in her case, her bank account).

Anyway, so we’re still in limbo-hell, if that’s even a place. Waiting it out. Things will change soon, and likely, it’s going to be sooner than we’re expecting. I’m totally down for that. I can’t talk about leaving friends, because that makes me just want to fake our deaths, change our names, go into hiding, and put down roots to stay. But our friends will always be our friends, as long as they want to be. We just need to make some more drastic changes to our lives, to ensure a safer, more secure (more sane) future together.

We can do it. We’re gonna do it. It’s just faking patience that gets me every time.

We got this.