Two years ago a phlebotomist came into my room at 5 am. She inserted a needle into the crease of my elbow like someone had once every few days for the last two weeks. I was amazed they were still able to find a vein. Nothing stands out about that particular needle stick. It melts together with all the rest of the early morning wake up calls that involved someone standing over me with a needle and vacutainer.
I don’t know if I had ever even heard of Jason Chaffetz until this morning and yet, by lunch, the Utah republican had basically broken my brain. It was not his fault alone, the camel was already begging for a merciful death before Chaffetz ever added his victim-blaming straw. The first thing I read this morning was a breakdown of the GOP healthcare* plan. This is why we can’t have nice things. Because they walk right in, snatch it up, tell us we don’t deserve it, and then take it home for themselves.
If you are anything like me, you have likely read about a kazillion birth stories since the moment you found out you were pregnant for the first time. I have read everything from accidental unassisted homebirths to hospital horror stories. From beautiful water births to straightforward c-sections. I don’t know that I have ready many details about preterm c-sections.
My relationship status with nostalgia apps like Timehop and Facebook’s On This Day is, “it’s complicated.”
She wanted a Honey I Shrunk the Kids birthday party.
I made giant decorations. Baked the cake. Prepped and planned. The weather was beautiful; an early April day perfect for kiddie pools and bathing suits. I was 29 weeks pregnant.