Thursday, July 17, 2014


'Are you going to have any more kids?'

What do you care. You have never gave a shit about what happened in my life. Why now. It has been a year since you talked to me last and this is the first and only question you ask? I will answer that question when you fight for the kids you gave up because they didn't fit in your 'new' life ~ your words not mine.

Shut up J. Don't go there. Don't say it.  Don't drop to that level. Smile and wave. Smile and wave.

I don't want to smile and wave. I am tired of so many things. I am just plain tired. You have never been there for me. You weren't there on Christmas Eve when the bleeding started. You weren't sitting in the sono room when the crappy on-call doctor sent a nurse in to tell me my baby had no heartbeat. You weren't there sitting outside the employee bathroom door worrying if I had passed out because you could hear the steady stream of blood hitting the toilet.  You weren't there bringing me chuck after chuck after chuck trying to keep up with the bleeding. You weren't there making call after call frantically trying to track down my OB. You weren't there to drive me to the hospital. You weren't there to call my mom to let her know that the boys couldn't call her later that night as promised to wish her a happy birthday because you were hemorrhaging and headed to the hospital for emergency surgery. You weren't there when my blood pressure hit 190/110. You weren't there when two nurses, one on each arm, worked fervently to hit a vein. You weren't there when the anesthesiologist recognized me and had to leave the room to regain composure. You weren't there to hold my hand, kiss my forehead and tell me it would be alright. You weren't there to hear the pacing footsteps waiting for the doc to walk through the surgery doors. You weren't there to hear I had a blood clot the size of a football stuck in my uterus. You weren't there when the lab came back indicating I was at transfusion level. You weren't there. You have never been there, through good or bad, to earn the right to ask that personal of a question. Call me a b*tch. You have before.  I really don't care.

I smile and wave. Smile and wave.

I often wonder if my personal hell over the last seven months is a direct result of this inner dialog. My own little purgatory. I let the bitterness in and allowed it to run rampant in my life once again. I sat back and allowed my inner light to be extinguished. It was easier to shut the world out than look it directly in the eye. It is my own doing and only I can take responsibility for it.

Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

Another day in your long week.  A lonely, empty mark of 40 weeks for me.