It has been a while since I wrote, it has been a while since I was...
Lately I removed myself from facebook, blogging, etc. It helped. This way I could control when I got exposed to things that could hurt me, like pictures of other people's babies (no offence to other people's babies, it's not them, it's me, really). While I'm grateful for those who care and wish me well, sometimes I just want to scream when I hear "you'll be ok, just be happy!" Really? How do you know?
Today I went to see the same doctor who told me that Amelia had "no heartbeat" today. I went to see her to find out WHY am I not pregnant again and WHAT do I do about it. I spent an hour in the waiting room with happy pregnant couples, flashing my "dead baby" tattoo. I spent five minutes with the lovely doctor. And I have no answers. None, nada, nilch. WTF? She (a very lovely lady) suggested I see a Reproductive Mental Health specialist, which is a great idea, in theory. I've been looking for help for about six months after Amelia died. I got nothing. I was told to call 911 if I felt suicidal when I told my psychologist that I tried to put myself INTO harms way a few times and contemplated JUMPING from our 18th floor balcony. She told me to help others like me, because apparently I was doing so well... Some time ago I stopped looking for help from people who learned about grief from a book. Now I look for it from within and it's working.
So I wonder, WHO the hell is working in the health industry? How does a person decide to become a healthcare provider? Do they even realise that they'll have to deal with real people and real issues? Or are they there for the paycheque? It certainly seems that way from where I'm standing.
Sometimes I hate some people. Today is that day. While I'm grateful for all the wonderful people in my life, I with others chose different professions.
Argh.
