It's Not the End of the World As We Know It

It may come as a shock to you, dear reader, that I have been known to be on occasion ... well, ... um, a Drama Queen (*snort*). My little Queen gets out and runs around when I'm particularly stressed, or tired, or emotional, or usually, all three. When my Inner DQ gets started, heads will roll, Henny Penny will run around screaming about the sky falling, the Rabbit will be late, dogs and cats will live together and general mass hysteria will be right around the corner. In other words, I will feel as if the cosmic shit will hit the fan at any moment.

It's rare that I get truly riled, but it happens every now and then. I realized on Tuesday that I was getting close to that line. To be perfectly honest, I was a bit of a mess last Tuesday. I was already depressed which in turn made me more susceptible to crapitude should anything the least bit bad come down the pike - which it did and it was a doozy. It didn't help that earlier in the day I had emailed my pregnant best friend laying out my tale of woe and I received a response back that I, - and this is a direct quote, "sound great!". Yep.

So, by the time I found out that we had yet another monosomy which I had been led to believe would be quite unusual, I was fit to be tied and certifiable. I genuinely believed that we had the crappiest luck on the planet, we were doomed to having only furry children, and perhaps strangest of all, that Dr. Uterus was actively jinxing us by continuing to give these sunny pronouncements on high about how it will be better next time. See how whacked out I was?

Wednesday morning rolled around and I rolled around in bed while petting a purring kitty and getting fur everywhere. I knew what I had to do and my choice was solidified through the morning. I had to take a Mental Health Afternoon. And that is exactly what I did. I went shopping at Nordstrom with my Christmas gift card but didn't find anything. I'm so cheap these days that spending $150 on a jacket just seems decadent. I also don't get that Thrill of the Bargain that I do at my favorite consignment store.

I quilted, I worked on the photo album of the quilting process that I will give to my best friend along with the quilt (this being the same friend who thinks I sound great), I started planning the cross-stitch pattern that I want to make (a first!) and I vegged. In my PJs. I also did some good old fashioned emotional thinking and came to a few good conclusions:

1) this is by no means the end of the world. I'm not dead. Sweetie's not dead. Our parents aren't dead and we're going to Paris in a matter of days.
2) it probably isn't as unusual to have two monosomies back to back as Dr. Uterus would have us believe.
3) we have options for the totscicles that we have left, such as PGS (as Denise so rightly pointed out)
4) we can see if there are any screenings for either of us to determine if our chromosomes are pre-disposed to nondisjunction (which is the cause of these abnormalities); and
5) again, this is not the end of the world. The Sky is Not Falling.

Once I had that good talk with my Inner DQ about these revelations, she quieted down. I think she has gone back into hiberation for a while. At least I hope so. I would hate to wake up one morning with Pinkey in my hands hitting curled-up hedgehogs through croquet hoops.