Indian Giver

Indian giver is an English expression used in North America, used to describe a person who gives a gift (literal or figurative) and later wants it back, or something equivalent in return.

It is unclear exactly how this expression came to be, but the consensus is that it is based on Native Americans having a distinctly different sense of property ownership as opposed to those of European ancestry. One theory holds that early European settlers in North America misinterpreted aid and goods they received from Native Americans as "gifts," when in fact they were intended to be offered in trade, as many tribes operated economically by some form of barter system, or a gift economy where reciprocal giving was practiced.

For those of you unable to read between the lines, I’m all but certain I’ve lost Gift. I’ll not be 100% until my next cycle, as I’m not going to the ER.

Rewind:

Almost a week ago I started spotting, and had light bleeding for two days. This bleeding wasn’t anything major. I never even had to wear a pad. I went to the bathroom, had some small clots, and never had any pain. As suddenly as the bleeding started, it stopped. I called my GP (General Practitioner) and asked for a script for a pelvic ultrasound and beta levels (that’s a blood test.) He said with my history of miscarriage, I had to go to the ER. Anyone who knows me, knows I don’t do ER. So I called my mother’s OB. I was told to go to the ER.

I don’t do ER.

I could make a whole other post about how the ER is for emergencies, but I won’t.

I took a few hpt’s and they’ve been negative. My mother tried, she really tried. “Maybe you’re losing the twin. Maybe you’re still pregnant.” If I did, I’d have a positive hpt.

So here I am trying to come to grips with uncertainty. And I know many people would tell me to go to the ER or go to a doctor. But why? I went over this in Therapy this past week. Why would I go to an OB? What could they possibly do? They can’t prevent a miscarriage. They can’t take it back. They can’t offer me answers or solace. And I know many of you would say ‘at least I’d know if I’m pregnant or not.’ That isn’t an answer. That’s another question.

If I am still pregnant, which I doubt I am, what then? The giant SUV we have won’t fit another carseat. We would have to sell it and get a different vehicle. How will Hunter deal with a new baby? How will I? Will I get my HBAC?

If I’m not, why? They CAN NOT answer that question. I’ve been worked up. I’ve been poked and prodded and tested and here’s what we know, or we think we know:

They tried to tell me that I have PCOS but they didn’t put me on metformin. I have more hair then the man in the moon. I don’t have issues getting pregnant. I don’t have acne, lots of hair on my legs or my vajay-jay. So, the only SYMPTOM I have of PCOS is. . .I’m fat. That does not PCOS make.

I don’t have a luteal phase defect. I was on progesterone, I still lost the baby.

The only thing that makes sense is celiac disease. But I still lost this baby. So, really, what would an OB do? Nothing. Nothing except waste my time and emotions.

This past week has been depressing and hard and awesome at the same time.

Somewhere, somehow, Hunter got sick and I got it too, sore throat, cough, snot out the ass gross sickness. I’m being kicked while I’m down. I ask myself why. I ask myself what I did to be put through this. Who did I piss off? Why do people WHO SHOULDN’T have children have them? Why is it so easy for them and so hard for us? So hard for me?

And like every time I lose a baby, there are a hundred women that pop up excited and happy and I . . .I am so fucking jealous.

What if I can’t have any more children? What if the section scar prevents proper implantation? What if my body can’t do it? As my husband would say “I think you have the scariest ‘what if.’” Would I be happy with just Hunter? Of course. He’s given me a reason for living. A reason for being. I was pushed off the edge of a cliff and he brought me back. But I’d really like more. We’d love more. And every time someone says to me ‘oh have mine’ or ‘Ugh, you’re not missing anything.’ Anything like that, I get pissed off.

I get SO pissed off that they have this gift . . .and they want to give it away when I would move heaven and earth to have it.

They don’t realize, they are Indian givers too.