Broken

My Ob/Gyn called me this afternoon.

According to the genetics testing of the fetal tissue, our daughter had an aneuploidy, a chromosomal abnormality called Turner Syndrome or 45X (instead of the normal chromosomal set, 46XX). It only occurs in females. Without getting too scientific, she was lacking a major part of the chromosomal structure and couldn't survive, although it does sometimes happen. In survivors, there are so many physical, developmental and reproductive problems that are associated. But term pregnancies with this abnormality are rare. Had we made it as far as the CVS testing, the doctor would have informed us of the markers for a chromosomal abnormality and we would have had a very hard decision to make.

The bottom line is that there was nothing that we could have done. Nothing would have saved her. And there was nothing I had done wrong. It was inevitable, even if I'd had the hysteroscopic surgery before the pregnancy and it wasn't because of my age. It doesn't stop the hurting, however. But now it is a different hurt. One that provides a small sense of closure. I just have to accept what happened, hope that it was random bad luck, and even more so hope that it won't happen again.

Our next step is genetic counseling to see if it is a permanent situation. I know from prior karyotyping that both Brad and I have normal chromosomes. As to whether or not there is something else that karyotyping doesn't detect, I don't know. I am sure we will find out through the counseling.

I am still going to have the hysteroscopic surgery to rule out anything else. As we all know, bad situations can travel in pairs. We just want to make sure there aren't any bad silent partners in my reproductive history.

Now I just have to process this information. Process and research. And hope... a lot.

As performed over breakfast cereal...

Gay Pride Week
First, Happy Pride Week to my gay and lesbian friends. As I said to one of those friends, "You get out there and be PROUD dammit!!"

Speaking of Pride Week, it is in full swing here in Atlanta. I went to the drugstore to get my birth control prescription depressingly filled. While waiting for the drugstore to complete their battle with my insurance company, two gorgeous French boys wandered to the back of the store to pick up some "party favors". As French boy #1 picked up Astroglide, I wanted so badly to say, "That's great for sperm motility!" but I couldn't remember in the three long years of high school French, Madame Fields ever teaching us the French word for sperm... or motility, come to think of it. Ah, well. My smart ass comments were saved for the blog.

Road Trip
Brad and I roadtripped to Birmingham yesterday.. for the hell of it. Sometimes you just have to GO somewhere.

Beautiful city!! It was nice to escape Atlanta for a few hours, and even better that our destination proved to be a welcome change. As long as I've lived in the South, I've never visited B'ham, other than a swift driveby down I-20, en route to Texas. I am glad we finally did a tour.

Blogitics
I had been thinking about blogging. I took a half-ass journalism course last semester, in which the dumbass prof had no clue what a blog was. I raised my hand and enlightened the thoroughly fascinated class as to the nature of a blog and why it is an ultimately powerful medium.

The prof asked, "Aren't they all politically based?"

I scoffed and explained they can be anything. But ya know, as I think about it now...
(((JOHN KERRY 2004!!!)))
Barren-ess Ollie and her Fertility Challenged Friends may be more politically influential than we once thought. I did manage to swing my brother over into the light. I am thiiiiiiis close to pulling my father away from the Dark Side.

Sidenote: We have yet to see Fahrenheit 9/11. We are eagerly anticipating it, however. Not that we need further assurance that Bush and his cabinet are evil men.

Insurance companies suck
We got a summary of payments from our insurance provider yesterday. Of the total $8000+ cost of the d&c, Evil Insurance Empire is choosing to pay a mere ~$1000. This leaves us with the rest, we can only presume. We are eagerly waiting on the bill from the hospital as confirmation.

Meanwhile, I spent a good hour in a lump in the bedroom, weeping and pounding my fist into the bed (on a spot where I was picturing the personified face of the whole company). This comes on the coattails of said insurance bastards covering neither my birth control nor the medication for my acid reflux (in spite of the fact that earlier this year I had a nice esophageal ulcer).

*stomp*

Comic Book
I am hard at work scribing the first action sequence of The Infertile (In-fer-TILE)and Hormona. It is soothing. I have a ton of plotlines and have to keep jotting them down on Word so I don't lose any of them. Likely, I will also design a webpage for them before publishing online.

It's great to have outlets.

Anatomy of a Superhero

...and this, my friends, will be the last cartoon I post to my blog. I will be continuing this comic in a future location that I will provide later. Yes, I think I am really going to do it. I have waaaaaay too much material NOT to.

Introducing...

Mood of the Day: Pissy

Why would I be pissy, you might ask..

WORK

I returned to work this week. Most people have been very nice, keeping their distance, not saying things that make me cry. But there have been a couple extremely insensitive bozo comments made that DID in fact bother me considerably for days. I'd rather not relive them, but needless to say, they weren't pleasant, they weren't intentional, and they didn't make my evening very comfortable.

SCARY NEIGHBORS

Then I return from a workday of avoiding said people, only to be greeted by the inner city hillbillies across the street. They reported that a crack ho stole one of my Wandering Jews from the porch. I have a brown thumb, so when I have a plant that grows EXCEPTIONALLY well, I am very proud of it. We have two Wandering Jews (correction, HAD) that are/were flourishing. Then some cracked up bitch comes along and steals one to make a smooth $4 for a hit. Hooray.

The hillbilly 8 year-old lags behind to ask me why my cat, Mojo is LOOKING at him. She was standing at the window watching us, as kitties are prone to do. I explained that cats are curious and like to watch out windows, especially when their mommy is outside.

He said "I hate cats." Then went on to tell me that when his Daddy gets out of jail, he is buying him a bb gun, and that once he shot a cat in the eye with a bb gun.

Thinking he would be remorseful, I said "Oh no!! How sad!"

"I am not sad. I like to do mean things sometimes. Because the king likes when people do mean things."

The king? Elvis likes mean people? What? This scary little person explained, "the Devil is the King, and he likes it when I am mean."

Oh.... my.... god.

This was coming from an 8 year-old CHILD. What? HUH??? Where on earth does an 8 year-old pick up this kind of dogma? Being that I am affected by everything, I had nightmares all night involving this kid. And he is not allowed anywhere near my cats EVER.

VACATIONS GONE AWRY

The next item on my Pissy Agenda is travel plans that just aren't working out. My mother was supposed to go to Dallas to visit my brother for my nephew's first birthday. We were going to get her ticket, using one of our freebies. Well overbooking means she doesn't get to go.

We were supposed to spend 4th of July in Chicago with Mom, once again using our freebies. Overbooking and blackout dates mean we can get there but can't get back. I suggested we fly there and then drive back but that involves a cost and the fact that we'd be driving for 10 hours. So we may not go at all, and I am seriously bummed out about it.

SUMMARY

I feel like going home, crawling into bed, and sleeping until my followup appointment on Monday, when I get the FUN news of whether or not the person I was carrying died because my body is a death trap, or if he or she was doomed from faulty chromosomes. I am so excited I can't wait.

But at least the cramping has abated for now. There's a shiny silver lining, huh?

I need more liquor.

Since last we spoke...

*
THURSDAY

Thursday, June 10. Brad's birthday. He worked half a day, and I managed to pull myself up and shake off the cobwebs. I even styled my hair and put on makeup. The mood was fairly stable and serene.

We went to lunch at South City Kitchen, which was quite tasty. While eating, Brad began to gaze out the window. He said, "That guy looks a lot like the lead singer for Stray Cats."

I turned to look. And immediately regressed to the spastic 13 year-old who was in love with Brian Setzer. "OH MY GOD!! AHHHH!!"

Alas, I was far too chicken to actually get up and go speak to him. So I merely worshipped him from afar.

FRIDAY

No celebrity sightings that day. Brad stayed home from work and we hung around the house most of the day. Later in the afternoon, we went out and saw Harry Potter (best one so far, I might add--as does most of the viewership, so it isn't an original thought.) Afterwards, I bought new pillowcases to match our recently acquired Claret-red faux-silk comforter, while Brad lollied around the recliners.

Around 4pm, I began to have a meltdown. It had been exactly one week since the d&c and the wave of emotions took me down. I had also realized that, according to the ultrasound measurements, our baby had died on a Saturday. The Saturday Brad and I had ventured to look at cribs.

It was too much. We went home.

SATURDAY

I was feeling better, emotionally. The storm had passed. In fact, I felt better physically.

We walked to our friend's restaurant for breakfast, Ria's Bluebird Cafe. After slamming back a sauteed veggie benedict and a short stack of pecan pancakes, we walked across the street to Oakland Cemetery (where Margaret Mitchell and Bobby Jones are buried).

A month or so before, Brad blew the whistle on a vandal who had destroyed a tombstone in this historic cemetery. As a reward, he was invited to become a member of their historic society (which includes complimentary tours). So we went by the office and filled out the paperwork. We were going to attend a tour that night but...

The bleeding and cramping began around 5pm. It was the worst to date. Apparently I had become way too cocky and thought I had control over my body again, and thus did too much. Brad ran out for a few groceries and *mwah!!* liquor.

One painkiller, two naproxen and two glasses of wine later, the cramps were gone. But they left their good buddy Migraine to close shop. Way to end the evening.

CAT STORY

Before the headache really got a good footing, though, our youngest cat, Nixon (4 years old), put on a comedy show.

While walking home from the cemetery, I found this on the sidewalk. A child's stuffed snake. Thinking our cats would dig playing with it, I took it home and threw it into the washing machine (even our cats benefit from my germphobia.)

After a thorough cleaning, I tossed it into the kitchen floor and then forgot about it. An hour later, Nixon's spastic tirade began. I can only assume she thought it was a real snake. She smacked at it, approached it in stealthy flat-cat mode, then got close enough to BITE it!! She bit the end and dragged it through the house, freaking out the whole time because it was following her (nevermind that she still had it in her mouth.) Each time she smacked at it, her claw would catch and of course, the snake would fling towards her, sending her into hysterics.

The other cats couldn't understand why she was reacting like this to a stuffed snake. They even took turns taunting her by pouncing on it and kicking it and then giving Nixon a look of pity. We pride ourselves with having smart-ass cats.

Thinking the event would be erased from her memory overnight, I tossed the snake into the floor this morning... and she is entertaining me with the snake dance once more. And honestly, I can't imagine when, if ever, she has seen a real snake. But this is one helluvan entertaining show.

Something Different...

Hubris, she whispered into the mirror. A blog that has nothing to do with the events of the last week.

Here's some crap most of you don't know about me.

1) I can flip someone the bird with my left foot (not my right foot, though).
2) I love Monster Garage (Jessie James is too cool).
3) I can and will eat Thai any time of the day, but I especially love it for breakfast.
4) My hair has been every color (including navy blue and fire-engine red) at least once in my life.
5) I don't shoe shop. However, my collection of Converse Chuck Taylor tennis shoes is vast and I own two sets of combat boots.
6) I have seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail a total of 55 times in my life.
7) My favorite flowers: Sterling Roses and Stargazer Lilies
8) I can tune my own car engine.
9) Vangelis, Albedo 0.39 emotionally moves me.
10) I have been too chicken/lazy to become a biologist, though I love it.
11) My first day of kindergarten, I drew a picture of ghosts scaring away the adults.
12) When I am really sick, I love to color with crayons.
13) My favorite crayons are cerulean blue and burnt umber.
14) I will only drink Evian water if at all possible.
15) Brad and I went to high school together and had mutual friends--but didn't know each other until 10 years later, after I'd moved several times.
16) I love Dean Koontz.
17) I have a tattoo of my mother's family crest on my belly.
18) I got my tattoo after a night of heavy-duty Scotch drinking.
19) I love aged single malt Highland Scotch... with club soda and ice.
20) My engagement ring is not a diamond. It is Tanzanite--periwinkle blue with a magenta "ribbon" down the center.
21) My favorite wine is Montepulciano d'Abruzzo.
22) My favorite coffee drink: Starbucks (decaf) Mocha Valencia
23) I have a severe sensitivity to caffeine (sends me to the emergency room)
24) I would love to write for a living.
25) Here's what I look like.