I headed to the place I refer to as the "bump barn" (i.e. the annoying obgyn practice that's conveniently only 5 minutes from my house, but filled with pregnant ladies and run by bonafide c*nts) on this bone-chilling morning to get myself wanded. I was all prepared to be cool and cynical, with my collection of Saki short stories (don't know Saki? He's the ultimate in turn of the last century snark and extremely entertaining).
But then the bitches didn't have my order. And my RE's office didn't pick up the phone for half an hour. And they said something to the effect that, "Well, you'll just have to reschedule." I explained to them--I mean, people, do you know NOTHING about female bodies, despite your profession?--that I could not reschedule, as it depended on my cycle day. And I burst into tears, shamelessly and openly. I let people stare, staring defiantly right back at them. I explained myself without apologizing to the front-counter skanks. I was angry, scared I would go through another trauma. I wasn't about to make things easy for anyone.
I don't know how women who have had later losses can do it. They deserve the pink heart for sheer bravery and gall.
Finally, one of the reception idiots had the good sense to get my RE on the horn via his answering service. He was extremely kind, friendly, warm, and apologetic. He took care of my order. I got wanded in an anticlimax. No cysts, no ovarian middle fingers being given, all clear for needly fun.
Then, in a sudden shift in tone and atmosphere worthy of David Lynch, I had a great morning with my man. We went for an ice-cold jog in the snowy woods near our house. To cheer me up, I asked if we could drive out to see a house I'd spotted online.
Lo, and behold, we saw a lovely limestone house on 8.5 acres only 30 minutes from the farmer's market where we plan to foist our vegetables on the public. Nice, flatish, pasture acres, dotted with little pumps. Big old trees in front. A front porch. A woodburning stove. A ramshackle old barn.
We look at it Wednesday morning with our realtor.
Oh yeah, and I get my first scan on Tuesday. Whatever.
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9 comments:
Good for you, Shinejil, for just letting your tears out and not apologizing. Imagine how different the world would be if we all did this - refused to protect others from our pain and frustration and grief and anger. Those c*nts at the front desk would be schooled in a hurry.
The house sounds completely fab. Hope it turns out to be as good as it sounds!
Ugh. Screw them. I'm glad you got your wanding in the end. Fingers crossed for you -- the house sounds exciting!
I'm so proud of you. Damn right they shouldn't get off easy. I'm glad they got you in. Grrr.
That house sounds wonderful! I hope it's a good inside. :)
...the bump barn. Awesome. And way to go getting it all out there. Screw them and their insensitive ways!
...that house sounds cozy. Good luck!
Not that I would ever purposefully use tears to get what I want, but it is amazing what kind of response you get when you show obvious true emotion to total strangers. I'm glad they got you in and that the morning turned out so great.
It's amazing to me how clueless people can be. Glad you finally got your scan and you're on your way.
The house does sound fantastic.
what jerks! i'm so proud that you stood your ground. us infertiles deserve out own bump-free places to get dildocamed.
i can't wait to hear more about the house! it sounds like a great find. post photos if you can! :)
It's AMAZING what you can have if you cry in public.
And, I am SO EXCITED about your house. I want a house like that! I wouldn't even think about the RE appointments and shots - I'd think about the HOUSE. Yay HOUSE.
And by the way, hilariously, the word verification on this comment is "flocheck." I kid not.
wow! I am glad you were able to cry and face them, good for you! they should see how these things they do effect people! and yay about the farm!
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