July 7 is the absolute most awful day ever created by mankind. So I'm skipping this day, if you don't mind. Sorry if it's your birthday - change it. It's cursed.
Today's the 5th and so I'm bracing myself to skip Tuesday because I'm really not kidding. I lost a baby on July 7, 2005 and was diagnosed July 7, 2008. This day just needs to disappear.
Have you ever wondered why things happen on specific dates? I think I lost my baby because the cancer was gearing up. Jackie had just been born in January of that year. Maybe it wasn't the right time for the blast of estrogen from Jackie. Maybe God decided I had my hands full with a sick baby (Jackie had a folded intestine called an intusseseption at 3 months). Whatever the reason, to this day I grieve my baby that made it only to 13 weeks.
This is the stuff that makes it so hard to be sitting in menopause limbo here. Bill and I weren't certain we were finished having children. He's the type of person who absolutely should have a little boy. And he doesn't.
Is this a regret? Can you call it that when every now and then you just get royally ticked off at the hand you were dealt? Is it worse to get angry because I'm lucky enough to have my kids when so many women are diagnosed and don't? I guess I don't really care. One thing cancer has taught me is to look out for me first. And I do.
I'll see everyone Wednesday.