I guess it's gonna have to hurt, I guess I'm gonna have to cry.

It's week two in this hell they call chemotherapy. I noticed today my hair is becoming very thin and when I brush my hair in the mornings, my brush is much more full of hair than normal. Guess it won't be long until I won't have any hair to brush. I could look at the brightside, which is that it'll take me about 20 minutes to get ready now instead of an hour. But I would gladly have that extra 40 minutes back if it meant I could feel like a woman.

It's not just the hair. While I still have one ovary left, I still feel like a part of my womanhood left with it. Silly thoughts run through my head. Silly, to someone who hasn't ever felt this, but very real to me. Thoughts of being unatractive. Feeling like somehow I give off this scent of only having one ovary. And if some how all of this hell I am going through with the chemo therapy doesn't work and my other ovary becomes a cancer "site".... then I will feel like their goes everything.

I miss my son. I miss my baby I lost last year. I keep hoping they will come visit me in a dream soon, and I am hoping they have found eachother and are playing together somewhere up above the clouds, living a life free of pain and suffering. My thoughts drift to them all the time. Especially my son, Branden. If things hadn't gone they way they had, I would be nagging my husband about getting our house built so Branden could have a nursery.

But do you want to know what I really hate? People who refer to my son as a "miscarriage". I HATE that term. It implies that I somehow mishandled my baby. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG- is what I want to scream when I hear that word. IT'S NOT MY FAULT! But who am I trying to convince? Myself? Probably.

I have always wanted 4 children. I'm not ready for that dream to die. I love being a mom. Being a mom is the only thing I feel like I want to do for the rest of my life. It's not that I'm not grateful for Brynnlynn and Brydon, because everyday I look at their sweet little faces, and hold their hands that need my comfort, and I could not be more blessed to be their mommy.

I feel gross. I feel sick. I feel ugly.

I feel sad. Really sad.

D.