We lost a baby on Friday. I hadn't even known I was pregnant until Tuesday. It wasn't something we were trying for at all. I was on the pill, for God's sake. But even I know that the pill can fail and that PMS doesn't last for three weeks, so I took the test. And it was positive. And I was terrified. After Evelyn, we had decided that we were done having kids. Still, my husband laughed, pounded his chest and we were both settling into the idea by Thursday when I started bleeding.

I went to the doctor to get checked out and had a blood test. Then the bleeding got a little worse. I woke up to more pain Friday. When the nurse called me at work, she said I was six weeks along and congratulated me. She was in a hurry to go until I told her that I was bleeding and having cramps and had been for a couple of days, only it was getting worse. I was worried I was having a miscarriage. So they told me to come in for an ultrasound that day. They looked for the baby and they found nothing. Except for that cyst in my fallopian tube that they suspected was the pregnancy, about to rupture. That was at 2:30 p.m.

They didn't let me go home. They had someone escort me to the hospital, then from admitting to a private room where I was scheduled for surgery at 9. I spent most of the evening by myself - I wanted to make everything as normal as possible for the kids, so after my husband came by with some underwear and my toothbrush, I sent him to get the kids and put them to bed. My friend (who deserves anything from me she could ever ask) came over and helped get everyone fed and into bed, then stayed while my husband came to wait through my surgery.

The room where they performed the surgery was freezing. I was so cold I was shaking on the table. The hot blankets they piled on top of me were as close to heaven as I could get in that place. An hour and a half later, I woke minus the baby and a fallopian tube. The tube had started bleeding while I was in surgery and wouldn't stop, so they had to take the entire thing out. Anyway, I woke up next to a guy who'd had surgery on his arm. It was 12:33 a.m. He grinned and called out, "Hey, recovery buddy!" I couldn't talk because my throat was so sore from the breathing tube they'd put down my throat.

My husband stayed with me in my room until I kicked him out around 1, then went home to sleep. I know the nurses checked on me a few times throughout the night and finally helped me to the bathroom, where I checked out my incisions - one in my navel, one a few inches to the left of my right hip and another larger one just above my uterus where the baby and my tube were taken out.

Anyway, I'm tired. I didn't realize I was actually looking forward to the baby until it was gone. I'm not as upset as I might be had it been something we'd been planning for, that had been known for longer. But I'm still sad. And sore. I wish things could have been different. But they weren't, and there you go. I'm glad I took the test early. I wanted to wait until this week. By that time I would've been bleeding and would've assumed it was my period. I wouldn't have done anything, possibly until the internal bleeding was more severe. So for that, I'm grateful. I'm glad my kids haven't been too disrupted. Unfortunately, Evelyn had to wean unexpectedly - percocet in your bloodstream and a nursing toddler does not a good combination make.

Food Matters?

So my husband and I watched the documentary Food Matters last night. It was...disorganized. I really wouldn't recommend it, though it had some valuable ideas in it. My primary issue was that it used a very broad brush to set up pharmaceuticals - any pharmaceuticals - as bad, bad, bad and nutritious food as the magic bullet to cure all ills.

At first, I was a little confused, but on board. The film opened with a discussion about how few doctors (under 6 percent) have any training whatsoever in nutrition and that nutrition is not a requirement to become a physician. Then it moved on to discuss how we under-nourish our soil, and therefore the plants grown on large, industrial farms may be lacking in some nutrients. Okay, so far so good. I think all doctors should be required to be able to answer basic questions about nutrition and that buying local is best when possible.

Then the movie went on to discuss that organic is best. Okay, still on board, but this assumes a lot about the viewer - mainly, that you can afford organics all the time, then moved on to discuss the "superfoods." Right...I know there are "superfoods," which are supposed to be excellent sources of nutrients. But at the same time, if your focus is on buying local organic food and the superfoods don't grow in your region, then what?

So the film continued to food as a cure-all for all illnesses, including cancer, heart disease, diabetes, even brain damage. Okay, I can buy that healthy eating would help prevent and even in some cases counteract the effects of heart disease and diabetes. And evidence shows that it can prevent cancer, too. But brain damage? Epilepsy? Most, if not all, disease as the movie claimed? If that were true, and we've moved away from the healthy eating we did before as the movie claimed, then why do we die? Why do we live longer? After all, the movie eventually states explicitly - "your food is killing you," and "your body will always repair itself if you ingest the right nutrients." Riiiight.

Sounds too easy. My take: the movie brings up some good points. You should eat healthy to avoid chronic, preventable illnesses. However, I think it's irresponsible to set up an us and them mentality with the medical profession. Sure, they're there to make money. But I don't think most physicians have it as part of their annual plan to make X amount of patients sick so they can make more money off them. Our health system is clearly flawed, as is the way we eat. But I don't think that everything can be fixed by healthy eating, just like I don't think that everything can be fixed with a pill.

Today's the day I get everything done.

A very good friend of mine was diagnosed last summer with breast cancer. She had surgery, was in remission. It came back - in her bones, her thigh, her liver and her brain. So now she's having a combination of radiation therapy and chemo.

I saw her today. I don't think I've ever been so afraid for someone in my entire life. I know it's normal when you're undergoing chemo, but she's lost most of her hair and is now using a walker. If she puts too much weight on her legs she might break one because the bone is so thin. She had taken an anti-nausea pill, but it didn't work, so she had to leave early because she couldn't stop vomiting (I'm never going to be able to go to a Bread Company now without thinking of vomit when I smell asiago bagels). Once we had cleaned her up as much as we could, we helped her to her car, but she started throwing up again, so we called her husband, who came to drive her home.

Anyway, I didn't like her at first because she was so nice. It's not that I don't like nice people, but I couldn't figure out what her angle was. It took me months to realize that she didn't have one. She was always the person you could go to for really good advice, who knew everything about the company we worked for and had done everything. She was so energetic, and I still remember her saying to me almost everyday, "Okay, Adrienne. I'm gonna do it. Today is the day I get everything done."

She said it again today. Right after she whispered (her meds have screwed up her hearing, so she often whispers because she's worried she'll shout), "Goddamn it, Adrienne. I am so pissed. This whole goddamn cancer thing has me so pissed."

I had typed earlier that I hope everything will be okay. But I don't think it will. I don't blame her for being pissed. Of all the parties affected by this, I'm probably impacted the least, but I'm pissed, too.