This weekend was surreal, sad, and long. It climaxed yesterday at LM’s best friend’s 3 year old birthday party, pony rides and all, which was thoroughly depressing. S, who is usually not jealous or spiteful joined me for some good old fashioned bitterness and suckitude as as watched ALL of the other families compare their new babies and pregnant bellies. It was just awful.
Today was worse.
We dropped Monster off at a friend’s house this morning, went in for a short consult at 8:45, put two prescription pills (which dialate the cervix) in S’s vajayjay, and waited for our noon appointment. Then she took her other pills and went in.
At least the D&C is over. S took a Xanax and half a Vicodin. And another Vicodin when it was over. The whole thing was shitty. The most painful experience of her life, and that coming from a woman with over ten tattoos, some of which she fell asleep during.
After the *speculum* hurt her, I knew she did not have enough drugs. Honestly. What is wrong with doctors? She prescribed 800mg of ibuprofin and 1 mg of Xanax. The Vocidin was given to us be friends! And it still wasn’t enough. Poor S. After the speculum, shots in her cervix, dilation stuff, and instruments shoved in there culminating in a loud vacuum sucking out the contents of her uterus, I though she was going to pass out. It was truly awful.
And I am encouraging S to take Vicodin all day, because it seems to be calming her down and making her food taste good. The redemption is that we are starting over. This miscarriage chapter is over. Right? And we move on to more motherfucking waiting.