every time they look up there...

...they see something new. That's pretty much how I feel about doctors. And I wonder sometimes - if they just stopped looking, would things stop going wrong? A little like Schrodinger's cat? Just don't open the box.

In this case, let's call it Schrodinger's pussy. That's right, the place "they" keep looking is into my fancy place, or related parts. I can't tell you how many dildo ultrasounds--before, during, and since baby--I've had due to my history of "unexplained" bleeding. And every time I get a new test, or see a new doctor, some new theory seems to be hatched, or some new little problem is found. I hated this especially during the pregnancy: doctors with pet theories, inconclusive tests.

I'm thinking about this today, as I just went to the doc's. Because my breasts feel, well, weird. And sometimes painful. And this being a new life for me where the world can crash down on my head at anytime, I thought I better get checked out. For, you know, cancer.

It turns out my boobs are just STILL postpartum. (Poor girls.) And the doc I saw was not my regular pcp but someone covering for her. And when he heard my tale of woe, and after very professionally feeling me up, he ordered a blood test for APS.

Now, this is a very good thing. I wanted this test. I just didn't know how to talk my brand new RE into it, because she said I didn't have enough indicators to warrant it. But this guy wanted to do it, so bring on the needle! It will just be good to know. I'd hate to ttc, have a miscarriage, and THEN have the docs say, hm, what about APS? You know that happens all the time...

But now that they've taken my blood... hm... I wonder what they will find. Maybe APS, maybe not. With my track record they'll find something else that I need to be checked out for. Something we hadn't even thought of yet. Something to make this process even more complicated.

Something like that just happened. I went to see the RE about my polyps and disposing of them before we ttc. And she put a little camera up there, into Schrodinger's pussy. This was genius. All those ultrasounds, plus a saline sono, hadn't yielded too much of use. Technicolor high def is definitely the way to go. I got to watch it all on the big screen. We saw the polyps and my bizarro "polypoid," "fluffy" uterine lining. (Super weird and how long has that been there?)

It wasn't so bad, seeing. I thought it might bother me a little. But it's very pink in there. Pink and nice, if a little strange. And all I could think was, that was my Angel's home. She lived and grew in there and was nice and cozy and safe. Until she wasn't. But still, that was her home. Kind of nice to see.

And then we saw something else--a possible septum. (Blindsided!) For real? She wasn't sure. So last Friday I schlepped off to get an MRI. A word of advice: never, ever get an MRI while suffering the effects of PTSD. Or on your daughter's 6 month birth/loss day. Whoops. Should have spent that day in bed with a carton of Breyer's mint chocolate chip, instead of in a tube with an IV of contrast dye in my arm. I'm such a dope.

I got a cryptic email from my RE today saying she got the results and we'll discuss them later this week and don't worry. Hm. Slim chance of that now. I'll also get the APS test results back this week.

At this point it's all just information. It will help us plan. And I like information, thrive on it actually. But, but, but. This isn't what I signed up for. I signed up for getting passionately knocked up by my man on our wedding night and bringing home a healthy baby girl. Now, if I want baby, I am looking at surgery, hormone pills, aspirin, heparin, p17 shots, and cerclage. I am looking at many, many more dildo ultrasounds. I am looking at turning 38 in January. I am looking at grief. I am not looking at guarantees.

One thing about all the medical-ness is that it is slowing me down. We were going to start trying this month. It is 6 months. We had the all-clear. Now, we wait, we get diagnosed, we do procedures, and we see where we are at year's end. And that's not the worst idea. Part of me, not all but part, wants to wait until March, after Angel Mae's birthday. I want my year of firsts. I want my year of consolation. I want some time with my girl.

But I'm turning 38.

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One more note: thank you, gentle readers, for all your lovely, supportive comments on my blog. You guys really are the best, and I appreciate each one you. My heart to you.