Counting down

We go on the 26th to the doc's office, both for post-op follow-up and, presumably, to get the results of the chromosome testing we consented to after the D&C. I have been doing my level best NOT to think about every possible reaction I might have to every possible outcome of said testing, but I've not been so very successful at it. Essentially, all I've determined is that I'll want to tear out the doc's throat with my bare hands, irrespective of whether our now-dead, almost-fetus was genetically flawed. Either way, HE DID NOTHING when I informed him of the distinct LPD patterns to my cycles. Try as I might to force order and sanity upon that fact, I can't make sense of his inaction. As long as there's no sense to be made of it, there's no way for me to be finished with it inside what passes for my mind these days. So, I've been feeling rather imprisoned by the whole business.

Don't misunderstand me, because despite being very sad about our loss, I feel mostly at peace with the notion that it's done, closed, complete. Only, then I start thinking about the fucking doctor again, and how he had AMPLE time, provided that our embryo was viable, which of course we don't know yet, to DO something to help keep it firmly rooted in its little spot, but instead just ignored my concerns, my information, my painstakingly-prepared-and-delivered detailed medical history. I want so badly for the whole thing to have a logical, sane explanation, but in my wildest imaginings (and truly, they're REALLY wild once I get going!), the best I can come up with are that he was maybe thinking about lunch, is suffering from early-onset Alzheimer's and is no longer competent to attend anyone, or that he just didn't really think that a silly woman could possibly have a relevant clue about her own body and so didn't find merit in any of my contributions at my appointments. And remember, these are the best, the least paranoid, the most logical. Nice, huh?

On a somewhat happier note, it seems I may be beginning to emerge from the funk that has enveloped me for the past twelve days. I went to a birthday party today for one of my six-year-old's friends, and managed to neither collapse in a sobbing heap nor scream at anyone. I count those as pretty big accomplishments! Yippee for me.

I'll elaborate more later, really I will. Now though, I'm going to try for some sleep. That too has been abysmal, but I'll need to devote a whole entry to it. Later.

G'night.