Dammit, I love me some crazy meds.
And just like that, we shut them all down. Three of them. High doses. Well, according to the OB's panic in her face they were freakishly high, but I will not allow myself to speak for her.
Rar. I am a real fucking joy to live with right now. Heaven help the poor bastard that unwisely chooses to splash in my bathtub.
Anxiety? Me? 25 days until next u/s. Might was well be next year.
Whatever took Mannie, the one-chance-in-several-million, rears it's head again. It spooks me with my increased chances of several-chances-in-several-million. These are my rough numbers, not the official ones from the genetic counselors. Maternal Fetal Medicine is at my disposal should I want to pick those scabs. Benefits of BLM. Huh.
And they took my zit medicine too. It really just might be a tumor today.