My Pubic Bone...and other southern encounters

How could I forget!

How could I misplace the memory
of my dear friend K breaking his nose
on my pubic bone??

And that it happened in
a frat house, of all disasterous
and shame-syruped places!!!

And that it was HIS frat house!

What happened to my K??
My K whom I have known since
we were 14??  Tender, sensitive,
...and broken nosed K???

To his enormous credit,and perhaps
temporary insanity, K paused for only
a few moments to recount the flash
of red that passed before his eyes,
before he continued with his expression
of long-held love for moi.

These are memories that scrabble up
and nibble at me as I come out of that
wonder-cocoon of first trimester
sleeping land. 

This go-round with the first trimester
is very different than the fateful first 2.
But as I lay there this morning with
the cat in my arms, musing on the brute
force of a simple pubic bone...I thought
of how the cat tried to comfort me during
the Really Awful Miscarriage..which would
be Miscarriage #1.

I was 13 weeks pregnant and had been in and
out of the ob-gyn/emergency room a few times
already with minor bleeding...but I had heard
the strong heartbeat...and my very Berkeley Hippie
French OB-Gyn seemed confidant that my fibroid
could not, under any circumstances, cause a miscarriage.

Of course I did not believe her.

But I let her think that I did.
I bleated like a good little sheep.
Even though my old friend who is a doctor had
given me the password to the US medical research site
where I spent many a dangerous minute perusing
all that could go wrong with me, my embryo and
my lovely little fibroid.

So again we were in with Hippie Francaise, who
inserted the ole magic wand in my Vaj and....
we both saw an empty sac.

The embryo had dissolved.
As if someone had filled the sac with acid.
It made me think of the movie "The Cleaner."
Which was one of my more disgusting moves
to avoid the very sad truth of the fact that
we had lost this little baby.

Hippie Francaise was appropriately eye-blinkie
and mouth-down-turnedie...my Man really was
in shock.  HF told us that I would probably
miscarry in the next 24 hours and to go home
and wait.  She preferred that I miscarry naturally,
rather than go in for a procedure. I was busy
avoiding my feelings and so I said ok.  I guess
that was what we were going to do.  We stopped
to buy some food and headed home.


At 11pm I started to cramp a bit and bleed a bit more.
I was ready for what I thought would be a pretty
heavy, hard-hitting period.  I could handle it.

Also to note: our house/ruin consisted only of
a kitchen and attic bedroom.  These 2 rooms were
separated by 3 house lengths (our house is actually
4 houses in one) and the toilet was posted right
in the middle of the block of houses in a 60 square
construction site. 

So back and forth I went for the first hour, thinking that
I could sleep my way through the affair...then getting
up to traverse the 2 house lengths to the tiny toilet
in the middle of the huge empty newly roofed room...
then returning back to the bed.

By 4 am I had thrown up all over the joint, was
lying on the makeshift kitchen bed tripled over in pain
with the cat trying her best to comfort me as I wondered
if, in fact, my uterus was trying to push the fibroid out
of me...because, why not since we're at it?

My Man, completely troubled and upset, was lying on
the floor next to me...wondering what the hell to do, when,
at 5:30, I made the executive decision that we were going
the f*ck to the hospital...just in case I was actually dying.
Old School Stylie.

So we drove to the city the hospital (we live in
a tiny remote village) and miracles of miracles we were the
only people to stagger into the emergency room and

This was ultimately important because my French, at that
point, was specifically tailored to My Man and I was not at
all confidant that any of this was going to go well.

It took 45 minutes after they put the IV drugs in me
for me to experience any relief at all from the pain.

Ok.  I'm done for the day.
To be continued tomorrow.
And the finale curls back to a suicidal cat!!!!
I know!!!
You can't wait!!!!!



Evil Twin's Wife said...

Yeah, they don't mention the pain. I was crawling around on my hands and knees in pain. We went to the emergency room too. That was the only of my many miscarriages to bring that much pain.

French Shelter said...

ETW: bastards. all of them.