Of Cats and Assholes

Some miserable, worthless fuck-wad ran over our cat this morning. No one seems to have seen anything, and the coward drove off. Any way you slice it, Peppercorn is gone, gone, gone, and Mandy has to stay locked in the house because he won't stay off the street, sniffing the spot where she was lying.

This just sucks.

Still February

Feel free to ignore this post if it makes you uncomfortable.  It makes me uncomfortable.

Some of my fellow bloglodytes remember why I started this blog.  It was an outlet, and a dumping ground for feelings that didn't have anywhere else to go.  It was also, and I hope has been, a place to heal, grow and become less whiny.  To try and shift my focus and energies onto something more productive than being sad.  But it's nearly March, and I'm finding it difficult.  I know some of you guys now, in a pixilated, ethernetty sort of way,  so it doesn't feel like I'm just dumping my negativity into the nowhere anymore; it feels like I'm dumping it on people, and I'm sorry about that, but it's got to get out, or I'll explode and the mess in my office will be even bigger.  So I'm trying to keep writing, trying to get everything ready for Thirdling's BD party, and just generally trying to keep my chin up, but I suspect I will not be my usual barrel of laughs this month.

Let's blame my overuse of commas on present circumstances, shall we?
Over and out.

Sadness

Ten days ago, I found out that the baby I was carrying was dead. I am 40 years old. I had all the non-invasive pre-natal tests, and everything looked good. I had passed the evil 3 month mark, I told my 3 girls (they were so excited!). I enjoyed.

So there I was, for my regular check-up, my gynecologist with his magic Doppler wand in hand, and he's saying the words "There's no heartbeat. I can't find a heartbeat." He ditched the Doppler, and switched on the ultrasound. "Sometimes they hide," He said. Baby wasn't hiding; he was just floating, dead.

I'm 40, I thought. It must be a trisomy problem. At my age, surely there was a trisomy problem that the tests didn't detect. I went later the same day with my husband for a second ultrasound just to make absolutely sure. Still no heartbeat. And I would have to bear the child; it was too late, the baby was too big for a d&c. I still wonder how I would have felt about a d&c, if it had been allowed. It just didn't seem right, after having seen the heart beat on the previous ultrasound, having felt movement...

And; we might never have discovered what the problem was. I was really not prepared to give birth to a perfect, dead baby. He (our first boy- such a teeny weeny weeny!) was perfect. But the silly little boy had the cord wrapped around his neck and tied in a knot. Too many somersaults. My gynecologist is not an ancient man, but he has been in practice for 15+ years, I would guess. He said "I've never seen the likes of this." He said it several times.

Now I am left with a question. What is the point of getting pregnant accidentally (my children are 11, 8 and 6, and we thought we were done), getting used to the idea, having all the tests come out very positive, telling the girls, being so happy, looking so much forward to the baby, only to have him born dead as the result of a freak accident? Since this is my first post no one out there knows me at all, so I'll tell you a problem I have; I am always trying to figure out what it is I'm supposed to be learning.

What is God (He, She or It) trying to tell me? How hard would it have been to let down a ghostly, all-powerful finger and unloop that cord? Why did that baby have to be conceived at all, only to die? Does God exist at all? I think there must be a lot of people asking these sorts of questions. I guess there always have been, and always will be.