These past few days that's been going on. But because I was trying not to be a gloomy little storm cloud (umm... I think I failed... even though I didn't share what was going on) and I didn't really know what was going on, I posted about scissors and the weather and tried to put my rambling-on-about-next-to-nothing skills to good use.
Well, now I still don't know what's going on, but I know a bit more than I did this morning.
I went to the doctor this afternoon for a checkup. It wasn't an OB check like most of them have been in the past months, just a regular, brand new doctor checkup. Paul had made the appointment for me, despite my protests that going in for a physical when "nothing was wrong" was pointless. I have been a bit run down. I had a fever last week and I've been nauseous and had headaches for about a month now. But I'd figured the headaches were from the progesterone and maybe the exhaustion too, even though I'd been napping with the girls and getting plenty of sleep (and a dozen pregnancy tests said that I absolutely am not pregnant at this moment). Nothing major. Nothing worth seeing a doctor over. Certainly nothing like what was going on a couple of months ago.
I felt fine this morning when I woke up (possibly because 3 days of percocet can really make a person feel "fine."). We went to the appointment and I waited my turn. Three minutes into the appointment I was a little nervous. The doctor had a heavy accent that was hard to understand and didn't seem to have much patience with anyone. When Paul's appointment was over he took Mae outside and I explained to the doctor what was going on.
Once we got past the "you could have died!!!" horror of what happened with the miscarriage, she began to ask questions and listened to my heart. I told her I was really run down and I thought I might have shingles, because of the location of the pain. She listened and paused, seemingly deep in thought and suddenly became very, very nice. She said she didn't think I had shingles. She asked if I knew that my resting pulse was 106 beats per minute. She was ordering an EKG.
So now I'm waiting for a call back from the cardiologist who will agree to see me based on "how bad things seem" according to his receptionist. By that logic, I guess not getting in this week would be a good thing.
I can't help but wonder if this is related to all the hemorrhaging and three months of retained tissue. I mean that couldn't have been good for any part of my body.
As always, any prayers are appreciated. Writing down what happened does take me slightly out of freak out mode. And I'm very grateful for a husband who dragged me to the doctor while I insisted I was fine. Now if only we can get some good news... I'm ready to write a post about how nothing is wrong and how this experience has inspired me to train for a half marathon...