Anne-Davnes Elser

~:W H A T 'S • F O R • D I N N E R:~

Dear placenta. Fuck you. Thanks a whole lot for ruining this pregnancy. And whoever it was who took my first baby, fuck you, too. Fuck you, Nurse Ratchett. Fuck you, nightmares. Fuck you to cavalier doctors who do nothing but smile. Fuck you to my nerves. Fuck you, me. You're pathetic to think that you'll be the only previa patient who won't ever bleed again. I've just talked to a nurse, who I like, who answered more of my questions about bleeding, the c-section, etc. Fuck being brave. I am sick of being brave. I am sick of being polite. Of making the best of this, of being cheery and cracking jokes with the nurses. I am sick of writing funny posts. I am tired of anticipatory dread. I am tired, tired, tired. But I can't sleep. I'm too anxious. I don't ever want to be pregnant again. This is crazy. Hospitals are crazy. Every time I close my eyes, I expect to wake up bleeding again. What do you do with that fear?

Hi! My name is Anne and any second now, I'm going to bleed on you.
Hey sport! Mind if I bleed for a while?
Oops! I'm bleeding!
Did you see that!?? She's bleeding! Gross!

I have no choice. I am sick of not having choices. I am sick of being asked what color my pee is. "And how are we this morning?" Fuck you. That's how I am this morning. I am a 38 year old mother - stop patronizing me. I am not fucking five years old. And if I cry, just leave me the fuck alone. I am sick of trying to be clever. The techs push these little carts down the hallway ALL DAY LONG that make this maddening squeeky noise. They come around to take your pulse and temp - part of their undying customer service, I guess. Something I'm paying for, I guess. Honestly, I just want to go home now.

I am sick of people who pray BADLY. You know, there's a right way to do it. And most people really suck at it. "Dear God, we know we're all sinners and that we deserve to be punished. Thank you so much for giving Anne (the bleeder) these challenges. You are just so big an awesome and cool, God. You're just swell. The shiznit."

I am sick of well wishers. Visitors. The woman (who is just doing her job, I know, but fuck her, too anyway) who comes around from the kitchen to take my meal order for the next 3 meals. This picture is what arrived for lunch yesterday and was the trigger for an evening of nausea. Thanks a bunch. What IS that thing? A breaded organ? A hand? A foot? A nose? Whatever it is, I don't want it on my plate. Not even in my room. This is how helpless I feel. I eat and stay in bed. every hour, there's a knock on my door. I'm a fucking INTROVERT, people! That means I don't wanna see you! Nope. Not even you! Or you! You, neither. And especially not you.

If this is life, I don't want it. If this is what's on my plate, I don't want it. I don't want "whatever's best" because that's just another phrase for, "look at it THIS way, suckkah. You're screwed! Smile anyway! Chin up! Yer fucked!"

After feeling like a rock star in "group" yesterday, (yes, I was in a wheelchair, but I was the smartest dressed person there, the only one wearing lipstick, showing any kind of cleavage and was the farthest along out of all 10 of us) I was on a high. These other women had sad stories like I did - but they were all slightly different. I was just grateful to have survived my own version thus far. And thought very highly of myself for having done so and for still getting to shower every day, walk to the bathroom, shave my legs, dry my hair, put on something cute, and sit up in bed. Noble flash of mature character, I know. Like what really counts makes me happy. NOT.

One of my favorite nurses answered some questions I had today for her. I asked her to be frank: They expect me to bleed. Again and badly. Worse each time. They're getting ready to do this thing called "type and screen" where they take my blood AGAIN and make sure there's enough of its match in their bank here IN CASE I have another bleed that would warrant a transfusion. They expect this. They fucking expect this. The closer I get to term, the bigger bimp grows, the more my uterus stretches, the more likely my placenta will bleed again. And more. Once I get the type and screen, I'll wear a little red arm band that says so and I'll have this lovely looking IV plugged into me that gives them easy access to me for blood, fluids, whatever. The ONLY reason why they removed my initial IV was because I didn't have another big bleed since arriving here and because asked to have it removed. It fucking hurt and ached and they put it on my right fucking hand right at my wrist. Nice huh? Every time I tried to hold something it ached. To think that they want to put in another one "just in case" and have it in me for the next 3 weeks is infuriating. Here's the truth - it makes their job all that easier. Creating an IV tap would be one less thing they'd have to do should I bleed badly again. Fuck them. I am so mad I could scream. I want to fly down the hallway and drive myself home.

I

AM

NEVER

HAVING

SEX

AGAIN.