Okay boys. Once again, I will be discussing my girl parts. If you don’t want to hear it stop reading now.
So I called my doctor at 8:30am, hoping they would go ahead and see me today instead of making me wait until next Thursday. Because it’s day twenty-three of Aunt Flo and even though I’m a really tough chick and all? This is kind of scaring and bothering me A LOT.
At around 11:30am I tell my coworker that they are never going to call me back. That gynecological offices only care about pregnant women and us infertile bitches just get the sloppy seconds.
(Incidentally? My coworker TOTALLY deserves combat pay for having to hear about my girlie problems. Good Lord.)
The nurse (FINALLY) calls me back at around 1:30pm. (I ask her to hold so I can go to another room. I say to my office mate, “I’m certain you don’t want to hear about my vagina.” Also, when I came back in the room he said in a Mr. Rogers-esque voice, “So! How’s the vagina?” He is the wind beneath my wings. But anyway.) She is just on the edge of condescending when she tells me that she has spoken to the doctor and the doctor feels that I’ve probably had a miscarriage and there is nothing they can at this point anyway, except let the tissue pass. So my appointment is moved up two whole days. Because that’s going to make a huge difference, I’m sure.
I have several issues with this. The biggest I guess being: That’s not the way to tell someone they might have had a miscarriage. Especially if that someone has been wanting a baby for like, three years and hasn’t been able to have one.
In 2000 I had a miscarriage. I had no idea I was pregnant but I went to the doctor after a couple of weeks of having “my period”. Somehow, and I don’t recall how…they did a blood test maybe…they found out I was pregnant, but I was in the middle of having a miscarriage.
So they sent me to get an ultrasound. Again, I don’t know why. I’m not a normal girl; I don’t know why they do certain things. The ultrasound tech, which was a guy by the way, and I guess I thought that was weird because of the looking at vaginas and whatnot, said, really friendly, “When are you due?”
I mean, what the hell? Can’t you put a big sticker on someone’s chart that says: "THIS PERSON JUST HAD A FREAKING MISCARRIAGE. DON’T ASK HER WHEN SHE’S DUE."?
Really, I should get to be in charge of that too. I would make a lot of women’s lives a lot nicer.
I’ll find out Tuesday I guess.