I think I'm broken.

I gave birth to our sweet tiny lost son George on the 20th October.

I have a hard time describing that day except in flashes of panic, pain, disbelief, agony, kindness, morphine haze, blood, tears and more and more tears.

Rushed back to hospital on the 28th October, gushing blood and huge scary clots, blood pressure down below the floor, heart rate erratic, three whopping bloody painful venflon cannulas in my arms, emergency D&C in the middle of the night. Transfusion; two units of blood. More pain. More drugs. Morrrppphhhinnne... I like morphine: I'm thinking of becoming an addict. Having to call a nurse three times to see my pee after they took the catheter out. Anemic.

Three days later: went home, bled, didn't bleed, bled, didn't bleed. Cried, didn't cry, cried. Blogged. Cried.

Saw Dr on 20th November, highish temperature, infection, more antibiotics. Better.
Bleeding getting slowly heavier since then, crampy, bit ikky clotty. Dr doesn't think it's a period yet, thinks there might be something still needing to come out, warns me I might pass a large clot at some point. Will be phoning me every morning until something changes, or doesn't. I'm scared of my own blood.

Don't want to go back to hospital. Nope. Uh uhh.

Bleugh, yuk, poo. I DON'T WANT TO BLEEDING BLEED ANYMORE!

Today I'm waiting...