Holy crap what did they do to me?  I knew from reading about my procedure (laparoscopic surgery) that they would have to pump me full of some kind of gas to make room for the instruments and scopes.  I expected to feel general horror in the belly area, like – well, like I got pumped up like a balloon.  Achy, stretchy and generally violated.  But I did not expect my neck, shoulders and ribs to be incredibly sore too.  Despite my generous applications of Vicodin, I slept the night in 20-minute increments due to neck and back spasms and some kind of stabbing pain that feels like a bruised rib.  Eventually I found a body pillow and that helped.  Being able to only sleep in one position is an achy business.  It was pretty crowded in the bed with me, my acute misery, my 6’3" husband, a person-sized pillow and a little kitty who insists on sleeping on top of my ankles or right behind my knees.  This is the same kitty who knows exactly when to step on painful pregnant boobs and has nailed both incisions with her pretty white paws already today.

So, that sucks.  Except the kitty, she’s still really cute.  I’m quite useless and can only manage one or two minor tasks (going to the bathroom, say) on any excursion out of bed.  For the record, I did not drive myself home yesterday.  After general anesthesia that is several kinds of illegal and would have been completely impossible.  It was my husband who had to pull over more than once just so I could decide whether or not to throw up.  Thankfully there was no barfing.  That would have hurt a lot.

Which brings me to gratitude, first for my husband who has taken really good care of me.  Waking at 4 am to help us decide whether to go to the clinic or the ER, holding my hand literally all day at the hospital, going to chase down water and whatever else I needed from the nurses.  Wearing my wedding ring on his pinky finger all day since they made me take it off (I think they were thinking of electrocuting me or something).  Pulling over on the way home and coming around to my side of the car just to hold me in my dizziness as rush hour traffic roared by on the expressway.  Running over to the pharmacy to get my Vic… Danny, the world’s best pharmacist, took one look at a prescription for Vicodin for a supposedly pregnant woman and knew all was not well – and sent his "deep regrets".  Giving me countless neck massages through the night as the spasms had me wakeful and crying.

What a gift is my husband.  I don’t know how any woman going through this alone can do it.

My friends have been uniformly loving and supportive and that has been live-giving.  I have talked to at least two in the last two days who have told me that they looked up or googled ectopic pregnancy.  That is my next point of gratitude.  Thank you, thank you so much for not asking me to explain it.  For many of my friends my IF adventures are far outside their own experience, and will never be relevant for their own lives.  But it’s such a nice gesture, a coming alongside, to try and fill in some of the gaps.

It is an act of love to learn about something that your friend is suffering from, and I am deeply grateful for that.  I’m also grateful for the IRL friends who have been lurking, reading, checking in, whatever.  It is so nice to know that I don’t have to rack my brain for who I have told, who do I have to track down and say "you know how I was pregnant?  well…."  It makes me feel so loved to get emails out of the blue from people who are up to speed and just want to say that they are sorry.

Or happy.  We did have some happy for a little while there, didn’t we? 

I got a phone call from my pastor, who happens to be a woman who has had five miscarriages including one ectopic.  This is another huge point of gratitude for me.  I spent my first several years of church-going life at a church where the pastors were generally too important to actually reach out to the little people in the pews, and I’m so grateful that at our present church they are a little more old school.   It’s hard for me to sort out where God is in these recent events for me, and my pastor was really helpful there too.  By the way, there isn’t a good answer for where God is, in this, except "near," and I’m choosing to believe that He is as sad as the rest of us.

So that’s my status today.  I think that surgery was helpful, emotionally, for me.  I don’t have to torture myself imagining the Wanderer dying a slow death from methotrexate.  It’s just over, and we suffered together.  I’m so interested in recovering from anesthesia and surgery that I don’t have to obsess about fading pregnancy symptoms, and returning to "normal" is a good thing and not just about loss.  I don’t have that surreal feeling that life should just go on, or that I should be able to be working and seeing people and productive, that I would have if my pain were "only" emotional. 

And I get to be semi-wrecked on Vicodin, which is taking the edge off my grief now.  Later will probably be a different story.

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