My soul sister came over for a late night visit last night.  She has a deep, deep (disturbing) love for Girl Scout cookies, her cookies arrived and she couldn’t stand the thought of them not being in her arms any longer, so she jumped in the car, drove to my house and we visited, without interruptions from our kids. until 11:30.

As a side note, I have to tell you that when she ate her first trefoil.  She cried.  As Brian (and God) as my witness…SHE CRIED.

I told you it was disturbing.  (but that’s how she’s loves…with all of her and that’s why I want to carry her in my pocket ALL OF THE TIME.  I wish everyone loved that way.  Do you love that way?  You should….you could.)

Anyway, I told her the story that I’m about to tell you, one that I’ve been putting off because of the DRAMA! and the DETAILS!  And she used words like asshole and kicking ass and maybe even ho, but I won’t say for sure.  If there is one thing about my soul sister, she’s passionate and loving but she knows grief.  Too well.  She lost her sister five years ago, so grief is with her always, on her shoulder, in her heart, on her steering wheel, it’s everywhere.  She faces it not just daily, but every minute.  She’s my hero, I swear to you.

So, I told her about my visit with my endocrinologist last Monday.  The one that led me to write this post about my grief being over.  As much as I wanted to incorporate the details of my doctor’s visit with you on that post, I absolutely could not, I did not have the strength to do so, so I left it out.

And here is the story.

My appointment was on Monday.  Sunday night I had a terrible, horrifying dream, one about pregnancy and a pregnancy lost.  I will not go into details because the last thing I want is to have that dream in writing.

I woke up Monday morning and my heart felt so heavy, my day felt so bleak, I could not shake that dream.  By 1:00, I was crying.  I hadn’t cried in a long, long time, so I knew it was necessary, it just hurts so much to hurt so much, so I try to avoid it whenever I can.

I had to drive to Chicago for my appointment, the trip started out with tears, but I turned on Elliot Smith and he soothed me.  By the time I reach the city I was fine.  I really was.  I went up to the office and met with my doctor.  The good news is that my thyroid levels are leveling out, but bad news is that my iron levels are still very low, which could explain my fatigue.

Anyway.  She was pleased.

And then she asked how I was doing emotionally, I told her I was doing really well, except that I had had a bad dream the night before, so “today was particularly difficult.”  I may have said it was the most I had been upset in a long, long time, or whatever.  She asked about the details of my dream and I told her.

She then told me that she thought I was suffering from Post Traumatic Disorder.

Okay, fine.

And then she told me she was concerned about my mental health for future pregnancies.  That’s fine, too.

And then  (see why I put off these types of posts?  I hate the and thens and the I saids and the she saids…it’s exhausting.  For all of us, I’m sure.)

She encouraged me to seek a therapist.  THAT’S FINE, TOO.  I know this, I will.  At this point I told her that I thought maybe I was misrepresenting myself, that I just had a bad dream and I’m having a bad day, but otherwise, I think I’m doing really quite well.  I’m pretty proud of where I’m at and how I deal with things.

she said “when did all of this happen again, you losing the babies?”

“last February.”

And she said “yeah, see, I just think you should be farther than where you are at right now, you should be moving….on.”

Which, of course, felt like she punched me.  A million times.

I’m trying to ignore her because of about 50 thousand reasons, here’s a few for you:

-she has no children.  She has no idea.

-she is not a therapist.

-she pegged me, in a 10 minute briefing, which was totally wrong.

I also KNOW that she is wrong.  I can remember both my therapist and my soul sister (my other therapist) telling me that where I’m at is where I am supposed to be.  I learned that long ago and I have carried it with me every single day and this doctor last Monday?  She knocked it out of my hands.

I keep trying to pick it up and run away from her, but it’s so hard.  I mean, SHE’S A DOCTOR telling me to get over it.

I don’t even want to write about this because I am sure there are people who feel the same way and that drives me crazy.  I can guarantee that anyone who feels that way, has never walked this path.  I have learned, from writing about James and Jake so publicly,  that there are so many people out there who have suffered a pregnancy loss and have felt like they had to just grieve privately, that others in their lives feel that this VERY REAL loss doesn’t count, but it does.  IT REALLY DOES.

And if you’ve never been through it, first of all, you are so fortunate, but mostly, it is not your job to judge but to walk along this journey and learn from others.

Unfortunately, my doctor judged me and her words have been hard to shake, I’m still trying.  But I have to tell you, that last week when I wrote about feeling like I should be done with it and having so many of you say the most amazing things to me in the comments, it was what I NEEDED.

Your words trumped the doctor’s words.  See how powerful you are?

You have no idea how much you mean to me, all of you coming to my blog, to read my site everyday, you mean so so much to me.

I am so THANKFUL for YOU.