Uh. Yeah. Can I have mine "to go"?

So, you see. It's like this.
You know that little baby that just fell out of my vagina a month ago?
It was a girl by the way. Perfectly normal. More on that later.
And apparently my body thinks it is fucking hilarious to keep taunting me.
Like, you know, how I kept bleeding for 27 days.
And then that day I woke up to slaughtered deer guts on my bed? Oh that's right, that was MY blood.
And then... this is funny, guys, listen to this shit....
I'm still pregnant.
Heehee! My hcg was still in the double digits!
My husband would be the first one to tell you I have trouble letting things go.
Sometimes, it leads to rage. Or, 'rrhage. Hemorrhage, that is.
I just spent 3 restful days in our local hospital with all kinds of tubes and tests and catheters and poking and prodding and milk and cookies and dancing clowns holding winning lottery tickets.
Got my very first D&C. I am now a member of The Club.
Also got 4 units of blood (packed RBCs but let's not get too technical).
I don't even remember one whole day of my life.
Which is fine. I mean, really. Hypovolemia, shock and cardiac monitoring aside, I'm still alive after all.
And now, let us take one moment to ponder irony.
Due to a full census, the only available room to admit me (once stabilized) was.....
Pediatrics.
Somebody up there wuvs me.