Oh, the irony…
As I was writing that last post, as I was in the middle of writing about how much I hoped everything was okay – how I was sure it was gonna be fine, George came. I ignored him, but when I went to take a shower to get ready for the doctor it was irrefutable. As plain as the nose on my face… er… the blood in my underpants. (Ew.)
I thought I was two days shy of “10 weeks pregnant”.
I didn’t know what was happening, and still thought maybe this thing was salvageable. So, I put my legs up, called Tom and we went straight to the doctor.
Okay, and… it’s like… I don’t know… I just don’t understand why God would string somebody along like this. Even as we raced to the doctor, it was like God was punk’ng me. We left here about an hour earlier than we planned, and still got there just in time to go to my appointment as scheduled. There was an accident on I-77 that not only caused us to be late, but about a dozen happy pregnant women were waddling in at the same time.
They asked me to pee in a cup. And I cried, because I knew it was over.
I went into a room and with a nurse and we talked about stuff, although I didn’t really get the chance to deal with details because I started crying again when she asked how long we’d been trying.
The doctor came in and we talked more in depth about my medical history. I told her I felt like I was going crazy and cried some more.
She asked if I wanted to do a pap smear and I guess a pelvic exam, and I said, “That’s not going to be pleasant for either one of us.”
“Oh, yeah… right,” she said, “your period.” We talked about an exam in 3 weeks. We talked more about what’s going on, but not at all in the gory details I was planning to tell her. She asked mostly yes or no questions. Like, “any health problems?” I said, “Well, obesity.” She asked what I thought was causing that, she might have just said, “why do you think that is?” and I said probably soda.
So, we decided to get me in for an exam and go from there. I don’t know… then what was the point of this whole day? Just… omg the crying.
“Unless you want to go ahead and try some hormones now.”
“Well, I want to try SOMETHING.”
Good news: officially getting the ball rolling. Bad news: she had to make sure my ovaries weren’t swollen first, or some shit, by sticking her hand up my hoo-hah anyway.
But I got a Rx for something. It’s something that has to do with breast cancer.
I told Tom in the car that it just doesn’t seem right using hormones. It doesn’t feel like God’s timing, it feels like us timing it. We’re making it happen. And Tom kind of alluded to that story about the guy that drowns. (You know, there’s a hurricane coming, so the news told everyone to evacuate… but dude doesn’t leave because he knows God will save him. Well, guess what? The hurricane comes and floods his street. Police come through in a boat and offer to take him to safety, but he stays with his house citing that God will save him. Well, the levy broke and as the flood waters rise he climbs to the roof of his house just as a helicopter passes overhead. A search and rescue team throws a ladder down to the guy and begs him to get on, but he maintains that the Lord will save him. He drowns. He meets God and is all, “wtf, mate?” And God says, what more do you want, I told you it was coming, then sent a boat and a helicopter. Tom was kind of referencing that…) He said, “well, what about penecillan? Not everything’s a miracle.”
Tom was with me the whole time. It’s nice that even if we never have a kid, we’ve got each other.
By the way, I peed in the cup and it was negative. There was no miscarriage or anything, because there never was a baby. There was only a crazy Wendy.
And now I am even more pissed about Courtney and Geo ttc. It’s not their fault at all, but I hate them for it.
That La Kid 