Turns out that an autoimmune disorder, such as my current friend, E.N., makes one much more prone to miscarriage.

I'm not really sure how I feel about that. Relieved, again, because this is one more thing that would have made a pregnancy very scary and stressful; and sad, again, because maybe if it weren't for this I'd be craving turnips and unable to watch game shows because they'd make me too choked up.

It's all as it should be, I think. It removes that little niggling doubt that maybe I miscarried because there was something wrong with the parts themselves, that this was a harbinger of things to come. Removes the wonder about what I might have done wrong. And very much reinforces that we need to wait until I have a completely clean bill of health before we try and inflict that particular roller coaster upon me.