Do you remember those clown punching bags that used to be around when we were kids (and by we, I mean children of the 80's)? You punched them down and they popped right back up again? Well... meet the human clown punching bags. The universe smacks us down and we pop right back up, idiotic smiles on our faces, waiting for the next blow. And it always comes. Sometimes the universe gets a new toy that occupies it for awhile and we get a reprieve, but it always comes back eventually and hits us again. And we just ask for more.
Our dog is dying. He has some mass (we think) compressing some nerve or his spinal cord and he is losing neurological function in one leg as a result. Three-legged dog minus one leg. It looks like we have weeks left. Someday in the near future, I will have to choose the day my dog dies. (Smack!)
I went to have the HSG done that should have been done before we got pregnant this last time (except that we didn't know we could get pregnant so we didn't have the test done). We were looking to see if the uterine scarring that resulted from OOPS! forgetting to take out the whole placenta when my son was born was resolved. Wanna guess what the result was? Come on. Guess. RIGHT! Not gone. At best, that means more surgery to try to correct the problem. At worst, it means no more babies. Ever. (Smack!)
Stay tuned for "Why 'At least you have your son'" is not the correct response.
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