This has been a tough week.
On Tuesday I had to go in for a last-minute Endometrial Biopsy. I’m having surgery in about 10 days, and this is a new requirement for it.
I am no longer able to have children — we’re not sure why but at 43 I have to accept that my oven is no longer in working order. I got my tubes tied three months ago so I could have an Endometrial Ablation since I’ve been dealing with the Red Tide from Hell for several years — seriously, I don’t get to sleep through the night for one week out of every three due to these issues.
I think if I hadn’t been TRYING to get pregnant the whole last year, the bellies around me in the waiting room wouldn’t have been so hard. But I’m going in to forever sever my ability to have biological children, and so seeing them gets to me.
But this time, my self-absorption was interrupted by a couple, crying, clinging to each other, coming in and sitting down to wait for an appointment that was being worked in. I knew what all that meant. Maybe she was bleeding. Maybe more had already happened. No matter what, sitting among all the bellies was harder for them than it was for me.
A lady across from them took out a long string of ultrasound pictures and the poor girl turned her face into the boy’s shoulder and sobbed harder. I kind of wanted to snatch the sonograms from her and stuff them in her purse. Couldn’t she see how hard this was? The couple was RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER.
But the blissfully unaware are just that — unaware. We have to forgive them for what they don’t know and be glad that not everyone has to know of this sort of bone-deep grief.
So tell me:
What were some of your waiting room experiences?
I’ll be writing Corabelle and Gavin’s story after their loss. Corabelle has to go for her followup, alone, because Gavin has taken off and no one knows where he has gone.