It may sound silly, but I feel like writing this post is necessary for my current grieving process. Sometimes, the best thing about a blog is that you get a chance to get everything out at once. It's not a conversation with someone (though those are often awesome as well), you can cry and keep on typing, you can edit how you say things (without your readers ever knowing that you aren't so clever the first go-round all. the. time.) and you can blog about difficult things, and move that little bit forward in a tough situation without having to sound calm, and collected, and any other manner of emotions that you're not.
Dear readers, some of you may know, many will not, that I have had a
"tough go of it" (as my Grandmother would say) lately. And I know
that there will be parts of this story that get left out, there will be parts
that aren't chronological, and to be perfectly honest, no matter who ends up
reading this, the reality is, it may not be for you. The reality is that this
blog post is for me.
As I sit here to write this, I am almost 2 weeks post-op for an emergency
surgery for a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. Layman's terms: I had surgery because
I had a pregnancy that implanted in the tube instead of in the womb, and it
burst, and bled. A lot. It was dangerous. It was potentially fatal. It was
Whoa whoa, back up the truck, you might be saying. Or perhaps you're just
staring at the screen. Don't worry, I'm not going to use a lot of medical
terms, and I'll try not to give out too many "gory details", because
I don't actually want to talk about the physical surgery here much. Believe it
or not, that's not the hard part.
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