Hello. My name is Murphy. (Not) So nice to meet you.

It was just one of those days. The kind where you are certain you must have jinxed yourself from the first waking moment by doing something silly like putting your left foot onto the floor before your right, or simply putting your underwear on inside out. The kind where you just want to crawl back in bed, pull the covers over your eyes and deny the passage of time. A Murphy's Law kind of day.

Merriam-Webster even knows all about Murphy! It defines Murphy's law as the observation that if something can go wrong, it will do so. And boy, did it.

First, I woke up late. I hate being late. As a result, I forgot to put in earrings. I happen to believe that leaving the house without earrings is seriously bad juju, and the events of this day are further evidence. Noticed our mailbox had completely fallen off the post on my way out of the driveway. Forgot I had to stop for gas on the way to work. Managed to spill coffee on my pants while driving. Got mascara on my cheek while applying it in the rearview mirror at a red light. And once I arrived at work thoroughly annoyed with myself, my office phone began to ring incessantly. None of these things is catastrophic. None of these is worth "wasting a heartbeat worrying over" as my husband likes to say. But on this day, my trivial happenings, compounded with the fact that I was beginning my 62nd straight day of bleeding (yes, I counted), it was enough to make me want to wave the white flag.

Background: I was 2 months post-miscarriage and subsequent surgery hooplah and still bleeding. And it was really starting to get the better of me - my color and patience were seriously waning. Not to mention the feeling that I was perpetually in a diaper was no bueno. I held off calling the doc because I assumed that prolonged bleeding post-DNC was appropo, and more pressing to me was the desire to just be left alone "south of my equator" and avoid any more requests for money in my mailbox (health insurance bites, but that's a blog for another day).

There was even an evening half-way through this seemingly never ending red marathon in which I would've sworn I was miscarrying again...only that was impossible, unless immaculate conception was a possibility. But it was a complete re-run of what I'd earlier experienced while miscarrying at home.

Ultimately, I caved and called the doctor while at work that afternoon, and described my symptoms: excessive, constant bleeding, pain, lethargy, etc. He asked me to come in for an ultrasound immediately - not my idea of a good lunch break, but then again, I usually have a working lunch anyway, I'm just usually clothed and not lying on my back.

The ultrasound turned into an escorted trip by the technician to the doc, which resulted in a one way ticket to the hospital. Talk about the VIP treatment.

The ultrasound seemed to show excessive endometrium and what looked like placenta - could I have conceived again, or was it simply the result of an unthorough previous surgery? According to the doc, only a scope could tell, and a second surgery was the best option to stop the bleeding. If there ever were a day to go buy a scratch-off lottery ticket, this certainly was not it. The bad news kept mounting and pretty soon, so would the tears.

Strangely enough the straw that broke the tear ducts' dam was literally a straw.....pine straw to be exact.

My trip from the hospital parking lot to patient registration left me with a sticky hitchhiker on my shoe and an unstoppable flow of sobs.

They say there's no use crying over spilled milk, and the same may be true for spit gum, but I did it anyway. I cried and cried and cried - while registering for surgery, while reluctantly forking over $400 that we intended to spend getting new tires for my car, while getting hugs and prayer from a hospital staff member, while leaving my husband a voicemail letting him know where I was (he was asleep because he worked the previous evening and was scheduled to go in again that night), while calling my boss to let her know I wouldn't be back to work for a few days, while calling my mom to let her know I'd be spending the day before my 30th birthday under anesthesia, while they took my vitals, while they drew my blood, and while I attempted to pee in a cup and instead pee'd all over my hand.

And when I went to reach for paper towels and noticed only the cardboard roll with no towels in sight, all I could do was shake my head, dry the tears with my clean hand, and laugh out loud.......Hello Murphy! Nice to meet you.