Meet Charlie, our new, probably temporary, addition. He’s a 10 month-old, Norfolk Terrier mix¹ and is so freaking cute I can’t even stand it. And he came just in time for my birthday.

The day before yesterday, my neighbor told me that her friend was taking him to the pound because she couldn’t find a home for him and she had to get rid of him. But our pound destroys dogs after two days, so he would have been doomed. She probably told this to me because I’m a huge softie when it comes to animals (see my love the robins nesting on my porch) and knew I couldn’t let him die. So, of course, I said I’d foster him until we found a home for him– and I knew it was going to cause huge problems when I agreed to it.

Well, they brought him over, with all his belongings, and I just fell in love. How could I not? Anyway, they assured me that he’s house trained and that he doesn’t chew much. Since he’s only 10 months old I thought for sure he’d chew. He’s a puppy and that’s what they do. Right? I also expected him to be a little bit yappy, since he’s an ankle biter terrier. I was pleasantly wrong. He is incredibly well-mannered and has adapted to his new home as if he’d been here forever. He refuses to jump on the furniture even when Lil’lady invites him². He ignores shoes³. And he only barks when someone walks into the driveway. His previous owners did a good job training him so far. He also sits and plays the piano.

That was cute. His ball bounced on the Lil’lady’s keyboard and he got curious about the music. So he decided to investigate for a full 5 minutes. About the time I was able to get the camera, though, he stopped. Figures, huh?

Anyway, I started this post yesterday, but then got distracted. I went outside to play hopscotch with my daughter. Do you know that Old Navy sells kits for that now? I didn’t either. Apparently, Millie bought one for Lil’lady. I tried to convince her that we don’t need little bean bags, that proper hopscotch requires a rock, but she refused to listen. At any rate, I was happily hopping along when my doppy ass didn’t pick my foot up properly which caused my flip flop to get caught just right which brought me down– on both knees⁴. Keep in mind, that I fall at least 2 times each summer. Last summer it was more than that, but there was tequila involved. Not so this time. I’d had ice cream instead. Anyway, I jumped up and laughed “Har-dee-har! Look at me; no tears!” and off I went. Except then my back started hurting and I am way too old for skinned knees. I laughed then, but I did have a reason to forget about this post.

Today, I tried to walk Charlie, but my right knee is swollen and my left 4th toe is ouchy, so I ended up letting him loose in the yard. I made sure to stay between him and the driveway (there’s a fence around the whole yard except for that part). He managed to chase a squirrel and find something’s burrow and then the little turd took off. Scared me to death. I was yelling as he was tearing around me. Don’t you know, he ran straight to the back door and waited for my crippled self to come let him in? Everyone say “awwww”. Still, he made me run, so it was the leash after that. But isn’t he cute? Of course, he is.

That’s all.

1. I googled his breed.
2. He will chase his ball up though.
3. Though he thought it was hilarious to grab my slipper and make me chase him for it.
4. Don’t you just love run-on sentences?

Warning: This post covers more of my story during my pregnancy with Gabriel. It’s in response to people who would just love to poke holes in my narrative. I decided to give those people more material to poke. Good luck to them but they should expect that I’ll just lash out. I’ve still got a lot of anger in me about this. All I need is somewhere to point that anger. So, they can bring the snide insinuations and the underhanded questions. I’m not worried.

For my regular readers: no need to read this really. I know you care and I know you understand. This is for the benefit of the doubters. I wrote Pt. I almost 4 years ago because of some asshole. And now I’m writing this for the same reason. Imagine that.

Yesterday I wrote my first diary on Daily Kos. It was a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t even bother to proofread the damned thing¹. I tweeted it and a few hours later it was on the rec list². I expected comments from people who either didn’t agree with my decision or would decree that Gabriel was even a person. I’m used to that. It’s a hard situation to be in and it’s pretty much impossible to understand if you’ve never been in it. So, I open up my email this morning and see this:

Subject: DKos article!

Message Body:
Hey, question on your article. You state “I just asked that they induce labor so I could birth him. No.”

Then, “The only hospital I could find to help me was 85 miles away and there was no way for me to go there.”

So there was an option for you about an hours drive away to get done the procedure you wished.

Why, exactly, was going an hour away such a difficulty — something that “there was no way for” you to do? — especially given the enormity of the situation?

Just curious! [emphasis added]

I love when I get stuff like this. First, it’s written in such a way that is supposedly disguising the author’s disbelief. But there’s that little bite at the end. That word that exposes her³ true reason for sending me that email is “exactly”. Second, I’m not a dumbass. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. So, I’m going to do Pat and her buddies (because I have no doubt that she’s in the middle of a discussion about this and decided she was badass enough to ask me this question⁴ ) a favor by explaining– in detail — what it’s like to have no fucking money and not being able to drive 85 miles away.

I should publish my response email first:

Because I live in a rural area with no way to get there. An hour and half away (speed limit is 65 out of town, 55 in town, by the way– not including traffic in Cleveland) isn’t such a long trek when you’ve got adequate transportation. It’s the other side of the world when you don’t. Guess I could’ve hopped a horse and buggy, but they don’t allow those on the highway. The point of it is that we couldn’t do it, but the end result was the same– except with a lot more suffering. Our caregivers were aware of our financial status.

Are you curious to the cost of the cost of the procedure, too? Because insurance doesn’t cover elective abortion.

I could’ve had a Dilation & Extraction, too, because that part Akron is closer for me. But I was told– in graphic detail — what that entailed for my son. That was not an option for me. I’m sorry if that decision causes you confusion. I hope you never have to completely understand what dealing with those issues feels like.

The point is I shouldn’t have had to find a way to a hospital an hour and half away. There’s a perfectly good medical facility practically sitting in my back yard. I expected to be cared for with dignity and respect. I made a choice and was denied. The staff at the hospital was “morally opposed” to helping us. Not because they cared about my child or my own health. They didn’t give a shit about us. They didn’t give a shit about my son. That is the point.

Jennifer

Cleveland is further than an hour away. The hospital is actually an hour and half away if there’s little traffic. Minor detail, but whatever. Now I can get to Shaker Heights in an hour because now I drive like a maniac. In 2003 I didn’t have my license⁵, so I wasn’t driving anywhere. We also didn’t have decent transportation. There are no buses, no trains and, honestly, have you tried to pay for a taxi ride 85 miles away? But this isn’t really the point, is it? Pat doesn’t really care how I could or couldn’t get that far away (though she apparently thinks it’s right across the street. Cute, huh?). Her point really is that I wasn’t really denied the treatment if it was available 85 fucking miles away.

Update:
This response from the disbelieving Pat just landed in my email:

Oh, I don’t doubt your suffering, it sounds terrible. I was just
surprised you or your partner didn’t have a car. Or more accurately,
neither you nor your partner had and a friend, collegue, acquaintance,
or family member that had a car and could drive you there. I mean,
the service you wished to consume is offered, and there was a slight
barrier to acquiring it, I just find it hard to believe there was no
way for you to get there. You make it seem like there was zero
option, when there was.

And I also find it difficult to believe that a pregnancy with your
complications would be considered “elective” by a facility that
performs abortions. I’m just trying to understand your situation
beyond what you present as the case!

Thanks,
[emphasis mine]

You know, I’m half-tempted to go through my traffic logs and see if this person hasn’t been on my site previously. I can swear I recognize her disdainful tone from somewhere else. Here’s a lesson for those who want to learn: when someone finds something “hard to believe” and just wants “to understand”, they don’t really. That someone is adding artificial sweetner to a bold-faced lie.

I will happily argue politics with a random internet troll. I will argue whether “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” is the best television program of all time. I will not argue about what my family and I endured during my pregnancy with Gabriel. That’s not up for argument. Want to argue abortion statistics? Sure. Want to argue the validity of choosing early termination? Sure. Want to argue about the most traumatizing part of my entire life? Fuck you. Nope. Not happening. You can take your fucking disbelief and stuff it straight up your ass. Move the fuck along if you just can’t wrap your little mind around my family’s ordeal. There’s that amazing thing on your browser– up to your right — that looks amazingly similar to an “x”. Click it. Guess what? No more having to worry your little psyche over how it’s possible that there are people out there that can’t get 85 miles away from their home. Imagine that! Woo hoo!

End Update

Now, I’m going to tell you the treatment I received at the hands of my medical team after they found out my baby was terminally ill. This is a possible trigger for some. For those that care about me, it might make your head explode. I lived through this, it damaged me and it happened. Stop reading now if you feel that this could ruin your entire day.

For the first 2 weeks after my diagnosis, my primary doctor was unavailable. He was on vacation. His office couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t call him or ask for advice or find out what was going on. This was my obstetrician, a man who delivers babies. For an entire week, he was unavailable to care for his other mothers? To see their babies into the world? Apparently, yes, he was perfectly fine with leaving his patients for that long. I don’t know if his other patients were seeing anyone else– he had no partner — but I wasn’t able to contact him.

During that time I was left to do my own research. That’s how I found out what my child’s condition was called– Potter’s Syndrome. I saw pictures and learned what the condition meant for my baby⁶ and found out ways to cope. I learned the term “early delivery”. I read stories from other mothers. I cried a lot and slept very little. I kept trying to find some hope. I wanted to know that it was possible my baby would live. I never found that out, of course. I finally talked to a funeral home and started to make peace.

When my doctor came back into town he seemed like he gave a fuck. He didn’t know what Potter’s Syndrome was and I had to tell him about it. He gave me sleeping pills and put me on an anti-depressant. He said I didn’t need to be in a high risk category because there was no physical danger to me and they couldn’t change the outcome. We talked about early delivery. We explained why we wanted it and explained why we wanted someone who cared about us to do it.

We wanted a whole child to hold and for whom to have a funeral service. I wanted to mother him like I’d read other mothers did. I wanted footprints and the blanket that covered him. But I didn’t want him to suffer. I didn’t want him to know the pain that he would endure while inside of me. I read a lot of stories from mothers who rationalized their decision to carry to term by thinking that babies at that gestational age don’t actually feel anything. I didn’t argue with them because that was their choice and how they coped. But I believed, and still do, that babies of a certain age can feel, see, hear and taste. This wasn’t my first pregnancy and with Lil’ Miss I was able to actually tickle her through my abdominal wall. I knew this child would experience the pain. I knew it. And I thought my doctor would be compassionate and help us– help us say good-bye and help us cope.

At my next appointment he informed me that his staff was morally opposed to helping us. They didn’t believe in killing babies, you see. Even to just take them off life support⁷ was apparently against their moral code. He said he would help me find somewhere but there wasn’t anywhere close. I should have a dilation & extraction in Akron, he told me. It would be easier. And then he told me exactly what was involved in the procedure. Every detail was told to a mother who only wanted to hold her doomed child and say goodbye while saving that same child from torment. He told me that the only hospital that would help was in Cleveland. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it, so we would be responsible for the $10,000 it would cost. Since he didn’t have privileges at that hospital he couldn’t be there to help.

He knew our financial situation. He’s a friend of Millie and was at our wedding. He knows that money wasn’t flying out of our asses. He told us to have the D&E, because it would be cheaper and quicker. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was also trying to convince us to take our problem to someone else– since I was being so adamant about ending my pregnancy early. But it wasn’t just about ending my pregnancy. It never was. That didn’t matter to them and it doesn’t matter to many other people. There is no way to explain the difficulty of the decision we made to someone who has never been there. One thing I was sure of, though, was that my family needed to say good-bye to that baby and there was no way I could stand for him to be disposed of as medical biohazard.

It doesn’t matter what other people think of this, at this point. I could not wrap my mind around the idea that my child would be cut into pieces, put into a red plastic bag and thrown wherever it is that they throw medical waste. In my mind, I imagined they’d put his little body in that bag and just pitch him into a landfill. This gave me nightmares. The way the procedure was described to me at that time– when my mind couldn’t think logically– horrified me. So, yes, I simultaneously wanted to save my baby from suffering being crushed by my body and prevent him from being thrown into a garbage heap. I wanted to birth him and then give him a funeral and I still didn’t want him tortured by me.

Not only that. I simultaneously wanted to save my baby and keep him inside of me forever. The only thing keeping him alive was me and the one thing that was hurting him was me. These are not mutually exclusive facts and feelings. I simultaneously knew that letting him go early was the best thing and felt that I was wrong for wanting him to die sooner. I cannot explain the cognitive dissonance to you if you’ve never faced this and, really, I don’t want to explain that part. I still hurt from those memories– nearly 8 years later. I still feel both guilty that I felt that way and relieved that it’s over. If you can’t wrap your mind around that I’m glad for you, because you’ve never had to feel that way.

My doctor spoke to his wife about my condition and his wife spoke to my mother-in-law. Millie and the doctor’s family go to the same church, you know. They believe the same things. They wanted no part of my plan. Millie then spoke to TheMan. The point of all this speaking was to convince me to have a D&E. The doctor’s wife explained the procedure to Millie and Millie explained to TheMan why it was so much less expensive than a funeral. I’m well aware of the law that supposedly prevents doctors from discussing their patients with outside parties. I’m aware that I could’ve filed a complaint and possibly had his license suspended just for that. But I was more angry that my own husband wanted to save money on a funeral for his child and had to deal with that. I did the next day when I visited the funeral home and found out that they provided services free for children under the age of 1 year. Imagine that. I dealt with the family that wasn’t supportive before I dealt with the doctor who violated my privacy.

The kind women on the Potter’s forum helped me through this initial period. I wasn’t even 21 weeks yet and already had to fight those fights. They helped me learn the law regarding after birth care and what I should expect from the staff at the hospital. I could have chosen another hospital to give birth to my chid, but I decided– purely out of spite and rage — to let this doctor and that staff bear witness to what was going to happen. I wrote a birth plan that explained that TheMan and I loved our baby and knew that there was no hope for survival, so we were preemptively refusing heroic measures to save his life. I explained that we wanted to be able to be with him, hold him and bathe him before his little body was to be removed from our care. I asked that they understand these decisions and wishes were made out of love for him and that they please respect us at that painful time. Then I gave a copy to my doctor and a copy to the hospital.

The nice lady in the hospital administration office told me that there would be no guarantees they would follow my plan as it wasn’t a legally binding document. She said they would try their best, but I should know they weren’t bound by law. And then she went away. I felt defeated.

So, for the next 13 weeks I carried my son and felt the pain as his little body moved inside me. I dealt with knowing he was going to die and wanting him to live forever. I decided to see how I could induce my own labor. I took herbs and walked and jumped. And then I’d feel guilty for trying any of that stuff. My doctor was only available during business and the man who counseled us in our grief (because we were grieving) was my aunt’s pastor, so he wasn’t open to hearing about that stuff. I didn’t even tell TheMan about the herbs⁸ or anything else. I have never forgiven him for asking me to save money by having a D&E and my resentment was so much worse back then.

I used to rail against my doctor when I couldn’t get in to see him when I wanted to. Millie would tell me that “he’s busy” or “he doesn’t know how to handle this”. I’d reply “I’m his patient!” and “He has to take the bad with the good in this fucking profession”. I was angry and depressed and tired and grief stricken. I was in bad emotional shape for the rest of that pregnancy.

Finally, I went into labor. I was 33 weeks gestation. It was really painful and we found out the baby was coming out sideways. His elbow came out first. My doctor, though, was out of town for his birthday and didn’t want disturbed.

Read that again. He didn’t want disturbed and wasn’t answering his pages. I needed him to be there. I needed my doctor to give a fuck, but he was unavailable to me when I needed him the most.

The doctor on-call came in and said: “Since you don’t care about your baby, I would let you have him vaginally. But I have to save your life.” I flipped the fuck out. I told TheMan to keep him away from me and called him nasty names. But there was no one else to deliver the baby. I had to have a c-section and I had to have it now.

I was so scared and I remember I kept saying that. I was crying and wishing my labor would just stop. I want to explain to you how this makes complete sense, but I can’t. I knew that day was the day my baby was going to die. And I was terrified beyond words. I just kept repeating “I’m so scared… I’m so scared…” and the nurses thought I was talking about the surgery⁹. They told me the doctor did it a lot and I would be find. But I wasn’t scared because of surgery. I was scared to see my baby die.

Gods, it hurts just to write that part. I’m pretty sure I’ve never written that online before this.

They announced “It’s a boy” as if it was good news. As if it was just another, normal birth. I nearly choked right then. “We have a son?” I asked. That tore a brand new, fresh hole in my heart. Our son.

When he was born, he let out a single, weak cry. He wasn’t supposed to cry, you know. I wasn’t prepared to hear him cry. I read that most Potter’s babies don’t even take their first breath. “Is that my baby? Is that my son?” I could barely get the words out. TheMan said “yeah” and started crying too. Gods, it was horrible. They wrapped him up and brought him over close. I kissed him and snuggled his face. Then they took him away. They gave him to TheMan to take back to the room.

“He’s going to die,” I said. “He’s going to die today.” They didn’t say anything to me. Another doctor was there all the sudden. I don’t know who he was. He came over and put his hand on my head. “He’s beautiful,” he told me. I lost my shit right then. I think they gave me a sedative because pretty soon I was all kinds of wonky and I wasn’t crying anymore.

I don’t remember being taken to recovery. They must’ve put me in the bed, but I don’t remember that part. I remember seeing TheMan holding Gabriel and asking him to give him to me. I stared down at his little face and saw the most beautiful child I’d ever seen. I rubbed is little head and kissed him. And then I knew. I don’t know how I knew just by touching him. I wasn’t aware of the knowledge popping into my head. But I knew.

“When did he die?”

He was dead by the time I got back to the room. He’d been pronounced just a few minutes earlier.
His little body was deformed and bruised. His shoulders and hips were dislocated and his ear lobes were laying on his shoulders. But at the time he looked perfectly normal to me. He looked like a peaceful, sleeping newborn. I don’t know what else was said. I have no memory of people coming in to see us, but I know they did because I have pictures. I don’t really remember anything except our time with Gabriel. We gave him a bath and even put a diaper on him¹⁰. TheMan rocked him and rocked him. We cried a lot. We decided prior to this to keep him with us until it was time to go. And it felt right to be able to parent him. We so needed that time with him.

They have nurses who are specially trained to deal with infant loss. They took care of us during the evening, but at shift change there were no nurses who knew how to handle us. In the middle of the night I woke up in pain and shivering. We called for help and no one came. I had to wait until the morning shift came in to get some relief. When TheMan went looking for someone to come tend to me, they told him it was normal and I’d be fine. No one came. In the morning we were blessed with the grief nurses again. But man… At one point someone came to tell me that Gabriel was going to give me an infection and they needed to take him away. I told the girl she was full of shit, but she could come back later. Other people wanted to see him and they weren’t fooling me into giving up those rights before I was ready. My sister came, TheMan’s grandparents came and Lil’ Miss finally came. I let them all hold Gabriel and say their own good-byes. I was actually surprised that they were receptive to that. The nursing staff mostly stayed away from us and I was honestly very glad for that in the end.

My doctor came the next day and examined me. He didn’t stay more than 3 minutes. I didn’t seem again until my 6 week checkup. Not even when I was discharged. He gave orders by phone and the nurses took care of me.

Finally, they moved me out of the recovery room. To a room next door to a new mom and her healthy, crying baby. I was like a caged animal. I needed to get out. Even closing the door didn’t help. There was a healthy, living baby right next door to me. The grief nurse (I can’t remember what they’re called) told me she was surprised they didn’t move me off the maternity ward. I wasn’t. My doctor ordered me moved and, well… I was ready to go now. I didn’t care if the doctor came and I didn’t care if I wasn’t healthy enough to leave. I wanted to get the fuck out of that room.

I was waiting for the lady from the funeral home to come get Gabriel when another nurse came in to see me. She’d never taken care of a mom whose baby died, she told me. She touched Gabriel’s cheek and then she grabbed his face. She pulled his mouth open and I heard his jaw break. That was the first time since I’d come in that I actually screamed. I told her to get her fucking hands off my baby and to get the fuck out of my room. I called her a cold-hearted, cruel bitch and told TheMan to make her leave. I held my son tight and just rocked him. I can’t even tell you how that felt right then. I wanted to hurt that woman and I would have if I wasn’t trying so hard to protect his little body.

When the lady from the funeral home came, gods bless her angelic soul, she held me while I bawled. I told her what that nurse did and asked her to please be gentle with him. I knew he was dead, of course. I know it didn’t matter. But he was my baby and the thought that his body was being disrespected was killing me. She took him from me and wrapped him in his special blanket. She held him in her arms as if he was a living child. She showed me that she understood my pain. I hugged her and kissed my son one more time. And then she took him away.

It was time for me to go then. There was no stopping me. TheMan went to get the nurse so she could call the doctor. He wanted to make sure I was healthy enough to go home. I didn’t care about my health. I was going to lose my mind and someone was going to get the blunt end of my rage. I was supposed to stay there for another day, but those motherfuckers were going to have to chain me to a bed to make me stay. Eventually a nurse came in to tell me that once again my doctor couldn’t come in, but he’d given permission for me to leave. I laughed. What a fucking joke. I’d just handed over my baby to a mortician and my doctor was too busy to come in and discharge me?

I went home then. Fuck the wheelchair, because they took too long to come pick me up. I walked out of that hospital– even with a huge gash in my abdomen. Fuck that hospital and their rules. I was ready to go. So I did. I had no other reason to be there at that point. And I never wanted to see those people again.

That was Friday and we had his funeral on Monday. I went Friday night, Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning to see Gabriel. They made him look like a little porcelain doll, which I didn’t really like. But they did what they thought was best. They didn’t limit my time with him or try to keep me from touching him. Every time I came to see him they put him in his little outfit, put him in his little wicker basket and gave us a private room. All the plans had been made while I was pregnant, so they knew what we wanted already. This was just my time with him. Just a little more time. I don’t remember the actually funeral. I know that there were a lot of flowers and cards. I know that TheMan and I had seats of honor up front. I know that I couldn’t take my eyes off Gabriel the entire time.

I didn’t call my doctor again until it was time for my 6 week checkup. I had no other use for him. But I wanted him to look in my eyes and see the patient he’d abandoned. In his office I informed him that he was fired and I wouldn’t be back. That was the entire visit. I didn’t so much as let him look at my incision. On our way out I heard his nurse talking to his receptionist. She said “We should’ve at least sent a card.” I stopped and stared at them. I should’ve just kept walking and let loose outside, but that was beyond the pale. I stared for a good couple of minutes and then I said “Ya think? Isn’t not every day that your patient’s baby dies.” And then I walked out. That was that. No more of that doctor for me.

I found another doctor to take care of my obstetric care. I actually asked the doctor what she would do if we were placed in that same situation again before I would agree to see her. I asked her if she would help me deliver early and show me compassion during that time. We discussed all of it and then I made my post-natal appointment with her. A few weeks later I found out I was pregnant with Lil’lady. I was scared to death until I found out she had enough amniotic fluid and my new medical team respected that. I had a lot of appointments and my doctor called me back whenever I needed to talk to her. They put me in a high risk category and allowed me to get more ultrasounds than I probably needed. I even managed to get a fancy 3-D ultrasound for the “big” one. That was the day we found out her kidneys were fine and that she was, in fact, a girl. I only wish I’d have chosen that office for my care when I was pregnant with Gabriel.

I understand that this post is really long. It’s taken me a long time to write it. It’s painful to read. I’m sorry. I’ve decided to answer all the questions that I could without actually having to hear them again. This was my experience and it was real and it will haunt me forever. Not a single thing about this story is made up or embellished. There are so many better ways that our situation could have been handled. Instead we were put through hell. That’s what happens when the wishes of the parents are ignored and brushed aside. That’s what happens when someone else’s morality is forced down a woman’s throat. This was not a series of mishaps. I don’t believe their was a grand conspiracy either. But it was a few people who were entrusted with my medical care that decided their interests were more important than mine. If you can’t see that here, then I can’t help you any further.

So much of what my family experienced could have been avoided if… But it wasn’t and this story is what happened. Any more questions?

1. As per usual with me.
2. The community recommends it and it’s put on a list in the front page sidebar. Lots of eyeballs.
3. I’m going with her because I feel like it.
4. I can practically see the “Well, I’ll ask her. I’m not afraid.” Heh.
5. Why is none of your business, thankyouverymuch.
6. I didn’t even know he was a boy until he was born.
7. I was his life support.
8. I grow Yarrow in my yard and I found out that it causes uterine cramps. So I poured dressing on it and ate it like it was fucking lettuce.
9. Which I wouldn’t have had to go through if I’d have been allowed to deliver early.
10. I don’t know why. We just wanted to do that.

It’s part of Gabriel’s story that deals with the doctor denying me an early delivery. It’s a little graphic and I allowed my heart to enter into the story. Don’t read it if you could be triggered.

This is an issue that is more than just aborting unwanted pregnancies. This is about more than caring if a child is suffering while in the womb. This is about more than a choice to end a pregnancy.

For Danielle, and for me, this was about allowing us the choice of how we said “Good-bye”.

I’m not repeating the story here again. I’ll dig up the link for my story if you want me to. Or you can use the handy-dandy search. Or you can go over to the GOS and see what I had to say there.

Anyway, this week is spring break for me, so I’ve been trying to get some serious work done (meaning I want to make some money). Since my work is done online, I was perusing some sites (yay, StumbleUpon!) while waiting for the pages to load. Well, for some reason I don’t quite understand myself, I landed my ass square in the middle of a meta war. I mean, Lord have mercy, it was nuts. At any rate, I was starting to get the feel of this one big box “blog” (I don’t even call it a blog, really, more like a fancy news group, but hey, who am I?). This chick had major issues with Daily Kos. Now, I don’t read that shitty site, because, well, I’m not into the usenet scene, and I think that’s all it is, really. A bunch of people writing “diaries” and then another bunch of people piling on for whatever reason (usually the “diarist” broke some damned coveted Kos rule and must be lashed endlessly. Blah!). I don’t have time for that shit. I can’t stand it and try to avoid it at all costs. Ya know?

Anyway, this chick and her commenters were going on and on about how terrible DK is and how wonderful a community it used to be and blah, blah, blah. All the while she’s cross-posting to dkos. What the fuck? You can’t stand the site or Kos and you cross post hit “diaries” to that site? That doesn’t make any fucking sense to me at all. So, like a gawker at a train wreck I get caught up in the meta-drama. And I realize that these people don’t actually know there’s life outside of those “communities” (ha!). I don’t even think they know there’s a whole other world of blogs outside of their little bubble. And all the bitching and whining about Kos and his “blog”…Puhleeze! That’s not a blog. At least not a blog like I’ve come to know and love. It’s an unbelievably noisy and unpleasant newsgroup. I think there’s an equivalent for conservatives, but I don’t know which it would be, as I don’t keep track of that.

So, I’m going back and forth from these “blogs” and laughing my ass off. These are the public faces of the Democratic blogs? Mwahahahaha! Good fucking grief! No wonder the MSM doesn’t take blogs seriously. They see all this “boo-hoo, he’s got more money” and “boo-hoo, she’s the boss” kind of things going on at these places and probably piss themselves laughing. I can see the keg parties now: “Lookee there! Those damned kossacks are at it again! Ok, take two shots every time someone brushes off the rule book. Tahaha-hee!” What a joke. Honestly.

Then there’s the little peripheral blogs that focus solely on their hatred for the big box blogs because, well, they got banned or some shit. And now they’re going to show them. Holy Shitballs¹!!! Are there any adults that frequent these places? I’m not a veteran of the usenet thing, so I don’t know (only having recently went to check it out for my “research”..hee), but… I don’t even know. I’m very conflicted- ensuing of the hilarity or cause for concern. Anyway, these little blogs are even funnier than the big guys because they attract people that have been kicked off of the big blogs for whatever reason. Hello? Yeah, this is reality calling and I would like to advise you to get a fucking life. Ok? Thanks.

I can almost see how it’s like an online community, but there’s something really, really messed up about that dynamic.

Anyway, yesterday some dude posted a suicide note at one of the bbb. Don’t you know it was picked up by the other two (that I know of, could be more of them, but I choose to ignore them)? So, we’ve got this whole online community blogging furiously about how they’re going to save this guy. Turns out that someone knew his old address and they got to him in time, but all of his blog friends were busy typing away about how worn out they were, and how they were going to lie down and…. whatever. All the while this guy’s note was up, along with his picture. It wasn’t until the guy sobered up and asked for it to come down did anyone bother to delete it. Now, the other blog is jumping all over the admin at the original place calling her ghoulish and a vampire for feeding off of page hits for this guys post (this blog actually makes money off of advertising) and the fight is on. More fucking meta bullshit. And a lot of whining. Gods, there’s a lot of whining on that blog.

Anyway, that showed me all I needed to know about the big box blogs. I don’t want to participate so I’m just going to go around and visit the little guys. And all of my politics will come from Sadly, No!- if they ever get on their new server and quit torturing me.

P.S.

My puppy’s piles of shit are getting bigger and bigger everyday. I’m so proud. Hmph.

P.S.S.

Baby: “Mama? You ‘member Otie? Mama, he not ‘posed to eat my toys, huh, Mama.”

_{* All Credit to Schad!}

1. All Credit to Schad