Today I looked out the window thinking it was November. My Healing The Child Within book talks about grieving a loss so today I am going to travel back in time and revisit a memory of when I was in college. My first year was not so bad. I was able to pay for it using money I had earned from my jobs and I had received financial aid which was a blessing. Before my sophomore year started someone called to tell me that a guy I had gone to high school with had been killed during a construction accident when a truck fell on him. Later that same year a girl that had been a friend of mine would be killed when her vehicle hit a patch of ice and hit another vehicle head on, but before school started there was a funeral that I wasn't going to attend.

This guy and I had not been friends, his brother had been going out with my sister and he made some nasty remarks about it. One day guys were fooling around downstairs, the next day he came to school with a large bandage around his wrist. Months later I would see the scar that seperated his hand from his wrist, something about it bothered me, but I couldn't really figure out what it was. I was curious about the scar and maybe that was the extent of it. I was in the bathroom before school started, at least this is how I'm remembering it, but when I looked down I was shocked to see so much pink in the water where none should have been.

I told my mom about the incident, she told me to call the doctor and make an appointment so I did. I hated doing things like that even though I was certainly old enough to be scheduling my own doctor's appointment. What I wanted was someone to put an arm around me, hug me, and give me some reassurance that pink urine was indicative of a not very major problem that could easily be treated by the appropriate medication. When I went to the doctor, it was an old fashioned setting in a house that had been converted to accomodate a doctor and staff. The woman asked me if I could be pregnant, I said no, and she disbelieved me and asked again.

Again I told her that there was no possible chance I could be pregnant, and again she gave me her skeptical look. I was in quite a bit of pain and needed to use the bathroom again. I think they got a specimen from me. I wanted to get my prescription and get the hell out of that creepy mistrustful place so when I got my sheet of paper I was relieved. I went home and told my mom that I had a urinary tract infection. The doctor had given me a lecture about unlubicated sex and ways that women should be wiping themselves after the sex act and using the bathroom that was shameful to me, but I told myself that she was just doing her job.

The medication did help clear up the infection, and I hate to share these kinds of details, however the fact that I got my period when I was taking antibiotics was another reminder of how she hadn't believed that I wasn't pregnant when I had never had sex with anyone. There was massive flooding that year so when I got to school the hallways were dark and so were the classrooms. I was so miserable on the drive there and back. Everything hurt and I hadn't liked the guy who had died, but it was sad to think of someone being crushed to death on the side of a highway in Minnesota and that added to my despair.

I can't remember exactly what happened when my mom got the bill for my appointment. She may have slapped me, if so, I have forgotten that detail. She was enraged, shaking, and monstrous. Screaming at me when I had no idea why she was so upset so she shoved the bill in my face. I was a teenager at the time so I didn't know how to read a bill or what the words in front of me meant until she told me they were for a pregnancy test. Big deal I thought, she hadn't believed me and maybe that was a routine type of test they did for menstruating women just in case someone who was pregnant didn't know that they were.

My mom wouldn't believe that I hadn't slept with anyone, the fight escalated and I remember thinking, this is what happens when I tell people the truth. I am not believed. I am shamed and degraded and yelled at and fuck you and that doctor who was such a bitch to me and got me into even more trouble. I think I ended up having to pay for that bill. There was some sort of consequence, but the details aren't clear. Fast forward to the winter when I was in terrible pain like I had not experienced before. I told my mom about it, describing the severity and intensity of the pain and once again she went off on me.

She yelled at me for being promiscuous and told me I was probably having a miscarriage. That didn't ring true at the time, and now that I've had miscarriages and at least one ovarian cyst, I think it was the latter that was giving me problems since I had pain on my right side, but not on my left, and when I was miscarrying, the pain was more centralized in my second one. The first one was on my right side, but the physicians and staff at the ER told us that was likely an ectopic pregnancy which is why the pain was so profound over there. For anyone who may find this useful, I had flu like symptoms with the cyst and not with the miscarriage, but don't know if that is customary or not so don't misconstrue that as medically accurate.

My book talks about sharing things with a safe and supportive group of people. The other day a friend of mine said she wanted to be numb. I didn't know I was blocking and repressing so many things. I actually felt like I was an open and communicative person, ha ha, isn't that funny? But no, it's not really, I didn't understand the difference between sharing with an appropriate person or group of people, and indiscriminately telling anyone and everyone something. The book talks about this too, and today I am grateful that I have this book as a resource to help me see that people go through steps and stages as they learn how to identify and feel their feelings.

For a long time I have been numb and empty inside. Things hurt me, but I could kind of step back and not really feel the full pain. I could write about certain things, but from a distance, which is why I've always really admired people who are able to convey emotions well. I feel stupid when my therapist asks me what I'm feeling and I don't know what to tell her. Now I can say that I am hurt, lost, lonely, sad, grieving for the teenager whose mother was so hostile, abusive, and uncaring about her daughter's health and welfare. Suppose that I was having a miscarriage. I've had at least two that I know about, and afterwards I sat and cried for the children that could have been.

You're in physical pain, but for me at least, that was blunted by the psychological, spiritual, mental, and emotional hurt. No one could comfort me and I didn't want them to either. I went back to work, I was at work for the first one, and now I can't believe that they let me drive myself home since I was in no shape to be on the roads and why didn't I go across town to the hospital instead of going to the much smaller one that was forty minutes away? Big hospitals scare me, I felt like the one in town would be cozier somehow, maybe it was. People were very kind to me, I remember thinking, these women are nicer to me than my own mother, but the pain was intense as they probed and needled.

We were at a family function when my aunt came up to me. She was crying and she told me that my mom had told her about the miscarriage. I was genuinely grateful for her arms around me and I'm very thankful that I have my aunts to fill some of the maternal void that remains mostly emtpy. Today my daughter is sleeping in my bed. She went out to eat last night and had a cheeseburger, fries, and a smoothie so today her stomach hurts. She wanted tea so I made her some, but she didn't drink it so it's on the counter becoming a mug of iced mint that won't soothe a troubled tummy.

I always want things to work out so here's a happier ending. Today I have a thirteen year old and an eleven year old who have some health challenges of their own, but now that I know about conditions I have, and what they have, I can only marvel that we are doing as well as we are. I took an iron pill yesterday and as I laid in bed I thought to myself, how odd, I can feel blood flowing through me down to my fingertips and toes. My extremities are chronically cold. When I was in fourth grade I remember my sock coming off with my winter boot and being frightened at the ghastly yellow color on my right big toe.

Now I get those streaks that go down my toes frequently. I know I wrote about the time that the fourth finger on my left hand turned white, and the shock that I felt when my practitioner tried to reassure me that that was not a big deal. I saw my finger being amputated and subsequent digits joining the departed one until my hands were free from fingers. I'm strangely optimistic about the future. I've been reading up on mineral deficiencies, I have a calcium and magnesium powder that you mix with hot water and all of these things help in small ways so I feel better. I don't want to be a person whose cabinets are filled with pills instead of food, but we have absorption issues and until someone gives me a protocol to follow, I'm going to experiment at home.

I used to have a sheet of paper that listed what vitamins and minerals celiacs tend to lack, I'm upset that I can't find it and as silly as that may sound, because it's just a sheet of paper, to me it represents more than that. I've been to a lot of people throughout my life, there's a lot that I'm mad about it and I'd like to hunt down the doctor who didn't believe that I wasn't pregnant and smack her, or worse, just like I'd like to really get into it with my mom, but violence isn't the answer. It didn't help me to have her shake and slap and disbelieve me, and it won't help either us of if I lose my temper and lash out at her.

I'm completely exhausted today. I didn't go to church, Jane is sick. She's eleven and doesn't even weigh sixty pounds so I worry about her and Jill too. I want this happy sunny farm style kitchen where people can sit down to plates that are loaded with fluffy eggs and syrupy piles of French toast or pancakes that are stacked high and lightly dusted with sugar. I can see in my mind how I want things to be, maybe we're getting closer to some of that with the raspberry plants in back that have survived transplantation. Maybe as our soil gets better with composting and we start growing our own food we will be healthier, stronger, sunnier, juicier, and sweeter. I can only hope.

P.S. I found ten hours of cello music and it's sad, but nice to write to when things like this are on my mind. Cheers.

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