Time for 2010 to move on

I think I can honestly say, without a doubt, that the year 2010 can certainly move on. I'm not even sure if I need for the holidays to even come. We can just skip it and start with a fresh 2011.

In this year, I've lost my dad, a great friend who was an outstanding Soldier and two unborn babies. I'm pretty sure that's enough for 365 days.

In June, I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad. All the things he would miss -- birthdays, holidays and of course the birth of his grandchildren.

I'm sure you could imagine my hesitation and reservations when I found out Sept. 2 that I was pregnant for the third time (and I have no kids, so you do the math). Due to my complicated history with what most women would consider "the happiest time of life," I began my twice-weekly visits with the greatest ob/gyn in Frankfort.

I began shooting up with Lovenox, a blood thinner, every night, progesterone and taking extra folic acid. An extensive genetic test produced results that concluded a baby won't survive inside me without a combination of the drug cocktail.

After a couple scares, we finally saw the heartbeat Sept. 23 and I was ready to accept I would be a mom. But alas, nature -- God -- whatever had decided it's just not the time.

Sunday I went back to the doctor and the heartbeat was silent. Monday he had me come back in and in the place where a baby once was were numerous clots that were causing me so much pain I could barely stand without crying, sit without writhing in pain or sleep without waking to intense cramping and back spasms. Not to mention the extensive amount of blood I was losing.

My blood pressure was dropping (explained my lightheadedness for the last 24 hours), and due to the pain, my doctor suggested a D&C immediately. So, around the parking lot we went to the outpatient surgery where the medical teams at Frankfort Regional took exceptional care of me.

The anaesthesiologist was former SF out of Fort Bragg. We talked about our friends who have died (he saw my bracelet honoring Hunter -- he was wearing one for his buddy), and he showed me pictures of him with a full beard while he was in A-stan.

Then he explained the risks of the drugs he was about to push to me. I may throw up, it could go into my lungs and I'd get pneumonia. I was glad he didn't think Paula Deen was a crackwhore and he thought my choice of pre-surgery entertainment was soothing. I told him I didn't want any breathing tubes and he told me that wasn't my choice. I quivered and told him I'd cry. He said that's okay.

It took him about 5 minutes and two sticks to get in my IV. But I didn't hold it against him. All Army medics usually take at least 5 or 6 sticks. I don't know why, I have really nice veins, at least that's what the nurses always say. But finally, he stuck me, and gave me something that made me feel like my head weighed 8000 pounds.

Off we went, down the hall and into the bright room with all sorts of bells and whistles. And I thought I'd cry. Is this what Dad saw? I wondered if it was the last thing he remembered seeing. The bright circle lights above him, nurses covered with face masks and goggles. Not really soothing. They should've had some spa music or something playing don't you think? The last thing I said was I love you. I think I was telling it to my Dad. The nurses thought I was talking to them. Maybe I wanted to say it to both.

When I woke up I freaked out. I didn't remember where I was and then I realized I had lost another baby. Nice. I could feel that I was bleeding and I still couldn't move. "Oh hunny," my nurses said and they put a tissue on my chest. Strong work ladies, I can't move my arms yet. But my doctor came to my rescue, wiped my tears and through HIS tears, told me he would call me later. Oye.

I've been on the couch for the last 2.5 days. We went to dinner tonight with Kris' dad and stepmom. I ate the hell out of some Apple Streusel French Toast at Cracker Barrel. I thought breakfast (always my Dad's comfort food) would make it better. Eh, it went down good, but really didn't make much better.

Because in June, when I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad, I was clearly wrong. The scariest part about 2010 is the fact that I might not be able to have a healthy pregnancy which would mean not being able to carry a baby to term.

I've never accepted failure well and that's kinda the ultimate failure for any woman -- not being able to reproduce.

So, that's the scariest part of 2010 and I have concluded that it is indeed, time for 2010 to move on.