I had such a nice weekend. Relaxing. Low key. Somewhat productive but more frivolous. I did nothing other than spend time with my two favorite beings (JS and Tonks) and spend some selfish quiet time reading or spacing out in front of Guitar Hero.

And yet. (Why is there always an “and yet?”) Here I am. Tuesday night of a 4 day week. And all I want to do is crawl under the covers and cry “do over!” Today didn’t go like I had planned. Like I had hoped. And the worst part of it all is that I know 90% of it is in my own damn head.

Work was frustrating, for very dull and work related reasons - nothing dramatic. People were crabby. I got crabby. Software didn’t work. I didn’t know the answers. I tried to help people, and offended others while doing it. Just your typical workday-blues. The kind that I normally shrug off and say “fuck it, I can just do what I can do.” But today it got to me. It got under my skin, and I feel silly that it got under my skin.

JS and I carpooled today, and after work we stopped at Vons to get some dinner supplies (veggie skewers, yummy!). With very little extravagance (a few $.88 bottles of water, and some on sale bacon), and the bill was just under $80. For food that won’t see us through dinner tomorrow night.

While going through the mail, I got a delinquent notice from the DMV for my car tags. A $95 late fee. And this is the first time I’ve gotten a bill from them. The same thing happened last year, too. No notice, and then as soon as my tags are expired, they slap me with a fee. I also got a notice from Discover Card. I had replied to one of their 0% APR offers, one I was pre-approved for, having done business with this particular bank before. So I applied, thinking I’d transfer over my MC bill at the lower rate. And they didn’t meet my request. So instead of transferring my one credit card, I just got a new one. That I don’t need or want. Because I know myself. I’ll use it someday, and then forget that I used it until I have to pay the bill. And I won’t have the money for it.

Which brings me to the crux of the matter. I’m feeling incredibly down on myself for all this financial shit that’s going on. I hate that I’m almost 30, and I’m still broke (no, scratch that, OVERDRAWN) before each paycheck. How is that even possible? (And yes, I know that I just wrote about our brand new PS3, but actually, JS bought it, and it’s from an upcoming contract of mine for screenwriting; and yes, I DO realize I’m being incredibly defensive.) My living expenses are less with JS than they were on my own. My student loans were in deferment for a while, thanks to being a full time grad student. I don’t have a new car, or a new computer, or a new iPod, for that matter. It’s just me, being irresponsible.

I know I’m not alone here. The economy sucks. Food and gas are insanely expensive.  My situation isn’t unique….except, what I hate, what I loathe, is this feeling that I’m so incredibly financially dependent on JS. I feel like I don’t pull my weight. That I’m a burden. That we’re not equal. And no, money is NOT the most important thing in a relationship, but it can be a big stressor.  I want to be doing my part. And I just can’t seem to get it together right now.

JS, of course, never ever makes me feel as though I’m a financial drain.  He laughs at that sort of statement. It all equals out in the end, he says. And yes, he’s right. But right now? In this moment? It’s the way things are. I rely on him….for more than love and support. And that’s a tough bit of pride to swallow. It shouldn’t, in any way, effect my self worth, but it does.

Aside from those thrilling financial woes, I still miss being pregnant. I’m sure it’s not a shock to anyone out there. I am doing much better than I was a few weeks ago, much better. I’m OK. It’s just…I’m sad. I want to be staring in the mirror, searching for a bump that’s not bloat related. I want to be researching consumer reports on strollers and car seats. To be checking out different brands of cloth diapers.  I want to be dreaming about babies, and not waking up  miserable because I know it’s not going to happen. Not right now, at least.

And until I can get my bank statement to consistently remain on the + side of things, that’s probably the way it should stay.

Technorati Tags: Life, Relationships, Finances, Miscarriage

“Are you still having bleeding?” He asks. I nod my head…my throat is, once again, too tight to speak. I feel like an idiot. It’s medicine. Science. There’s no room for emotion in science.

“Better or worse than yesterday?”

“Worse,” I whisper, desperately looking to the ceiling, praying that the tears won’t spill over. Why do I care now? Why with a doctor, who deals with this, and worse, on a daily basis. I guess hormones and emotion know no logic.

“Any pain?” Again, I nod, too scared to speak. The nurse gives me a sympathetic smile. I’d rather she pick her nose, check her iPod, anything than show me kindness right now.

He asks her to go out and get the blood test results, even though I know them by heart. 80 on Monday. 100 on Thursday. Not enough of a raise. Rh negative - my body will build a resistance to any potential (and probable) future Rh positive fetuses. But I don’t say anything, because maybe, if I don’t, the results will be different. Maybe the numbers will have doubled, like they should have. Maybe I can change the inevitable by keeping quiet. Maybe if I speak up, I’ll show too much doubt and God won’t reward my strong faith with an impossible miracle. And besides, they’ll figure it out soon enough.

I scoot down on the table, for better ultrasound access. He squints at the monitor, then reaches to shut off the lights. He moves the wand around, and I gasp at how much it hurts. “I’m sorry,” he says. He asks if I could provide a urine sample. I laugh. After 10 days of having to pee nonstop, this must be the first time I don’t have to use the bathroom. But I try anyway.

After providing the sample, I go to his office. He studies the ultrasound images, and compares them to the ones from a week ago. “Most likely, you miscarried.” He says. I try to think of a way to find hope in the word “maybe,” but I can’t. I know better. My body has been telling me from the get go that something is wrong. He continues: “There’s nothing in your uterus. If the urine test is negative, we’ll give you an Rh shot and we’re done.”

The nurse comes back in with my results. “It still says positive,” she says. He nods his head. “We’re not out of the woods for a tubal pregnancy,” he says, “Can you get your blood drawn today?”

So JS and I head out for the lab. We wait an hour - there are only 2 techs. I offer my already bruised vein, not even bothering to pray for a miracle. I just want it to be over. Done. Whatever is inside of me, I want it out. I suddenly feel a connection with women who wait anxiously in abortion clinics. They must feel the exact same way that I do right now. They just want their bodies back.

We get lunch after. I’m not very hungry, but I’m extremely light headed, so I eat what I can. We come home and, after reading up on mortality rates for tubal pregnancies, I take a nap. While I’m sleeping, JS brings in some flowers that John sent me. They’re lovely: bright and huge and yellow. I have the best friend in the universe.

And now I wait again. My eyes are puffy and sore from crying. I’ve become an online expert at deciphering Hcg numbers, and I determined that, based on size, I was probably close to 8 weeks along…further than what seems possible, but, hey, if the pregnancy was doomed from the start, then I never would have thought to take a home test anyway.

I hope and I pray that it’s a “simple” miscarriage. I don’t want to keep feeling afraid every time I go to the bathroom. I want to move on. I want to get past this and, eventually, begin thinking about what’s next. I want my hormones to subside so I don’t burst into sobs on an elevator when a woman comes on with a stroller and a toddler.

JS has, as expected, been amazing throughout. He’s held my hand, stroked my head, sat with me in the doctor’s office, made jokes, been somber, anything and everything I could have ever needed and if I say anything else, then I’m going to dissolve, once again, into tears. And I’m tired of crying (for now). John has read all of my emails from the beginning and been the best friend I could ask for. Even though this is such a shitty thing, I’m so very glad to have such amazing people in my life. I wish I could talk to my parents about this. I wish I could cry on the phone with my mom. That she’d listen. That she’d care. That she wouldn’t just think that I got what I deserve, living in sin and all.

Then again, I also wish that I had an MP3 of a rapid “whoosh whoosh whoosh” to post and play on repeat…so I guess that wishing isn’t going to accomplish much tonight.

Technorati Tags: Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Life, Faith, Relationships