I Lost My Fallopian Tube From An Ectopic Pregnancy, And I Don’t Think I Had To

This is a sad post, so here is a happy picture.

Since I last posted about what I thought was a miscarriage, my medical situation has gotten pretty significantly worse, and even though right now I'm laying in bed with bandages all over my torso and can't really move, I wanted to write about this because for some reason doing so is functioning as a kind of in-real-time therapy for me. And also because I had no idea that what happened to me over the past week could happen, and it didn't have to, and I'd really like it to not happen to anyone else.



Here's a funny little byproduct of this site: when I write about something that falls on the "heavy" side of the spectrum (like, ohhhh, say, this), it's always strange trying to figure out how to transition back into more "normal" topics. Today, for example, the plan was to do an outfit post, because I haven't done one in forever, but I'm not sure how to go about that; typing up tips on how to wear a 3/4-sleeve jacket in the winter isn't something I feel like doing at the moment.

So I'm going to tell you about my socks instead. But first I'm going to tell you how I'm feeling, because it seems like at least a brief update is warranted.


I Had A Miscarriage Yesterday

Just after my pregnancy was confirmed by a blood test.

If you follow me on Instagram, this is the photo you saw yesterday. But I wasn't sitting in a bath with a cocktail; I was sitting in a hospital bed, having a miscarriage from a pregnancy that I hadn't known was happening.



Hey just bathroom selfie-ing at The Smith

Last night I was packing up to fly back home (and was upgraded AGAIN on the way back, btw, which either means that I am a freaking genius capable of hacking the algorithm, on the receiving end of some bizarrely coincidental good karma, or Beyonce), when I realized that I haven't really explained what I was doing in New York.


One Year Later: Still Angry, Still There

A year ago today, when we marched in Los Angeles, the size of the crowd floored me: thousands and thousands more people than were expected showed up, and the march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. As exciting as it was, I remember thinking that it - meaning all that energy and rage - wouldn't last. We'd promise ourselves not to start feeling like this presidency was normal...but then, inevitably, "normal" would become exactly how it'd feel.

This year we decided to stay put and march in San Jose alongside our neighbors. I expected to see a few hundred people; maybe a thousand.

The march spilled out into what felt like the entire city. Nobody went anywhere, and they certainly didn't shrug their shoulders and go back to their couches. I think the part that really got me - beyond the man holding a sign saying that he was there for his granddaughters - was just how many kids there were. I am so excited to see what all those children marching alongside their parents, in strollers and on shoulders, hoisting signs that they'd clearly made themselves, will grow up to do one day. I'm pretty sure they're going to be the ones saving us.