A Farewell to Options

July 24, 2012

I met with the midwife today. And by “met with the midwife” I mean “blubbered while she listened and made appropriate noises in response.” I’m not a pretty crier. If you look up blubber in Merriam-Webster, you’ll find my picture next to the definitions for using the word as a verb. I go through vast quantities of tissues blowing my nose. The entire time I was waiting for her, I was trying to hold myself together. Focus on what you’re reading. Take a deep breath. Don’t cry. Blow your nose. (Yeah, I’d started crying when talking to the nurse during my intake. She did make me happy when she said, “You’ve lost a lot of weight, that’s good!” It didn’t make it easier to stop crying, but I smiled a little as I told her that I don’t eat when I’m stressed.) Just read. And breathe. And blow your nose again.

Needless to say, I lost it just about as soon as Heather walked into the exam room. And that was before she told me that she couldn’t help me. But she listened. She let me vent just how frustrated I am with the fact that the man she referred me to doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say. And she did her best to commiserate. And I could tell that it hurt her, too, to know that things were going so… well, not, I guess. Things weren’t going at all. And she said that she’d send a letter explaining that I had met with her and that we’d discussed options and that I was making an informed choice. And she said she wished she could do more but that she couldn’t get me pregnant. She also gave me my lines. She told me what I should tell the nurse when I called Grand Rapids next. I’m an actor. Having lines puts me in my comfort zone.

And I pulled myself back together before going to pay my copay. And remember how I said the people at this office care? They really do. The assistant who handled my payment looked at me and asked if I was okay and that was just too much and I lost it again. And she had that box of tissues up on the desk so fast… And I don’t really remember what she said after that. Something about how she was sorry and knew that it was a really emotional thing and would I be all right. I said I was taking myself to Food Dance for dinner, and she agreed that Food Dance always makes things better.

As I walked to my car, I texted my mom that I was heading to Food Dance. I sat in the parking lot at the hospital and tried to pull myself together again. I drove to Food Dance. I sat in the parking lot at Food Dance and eventually did manage to pull myself together. Although, after talking to my mom, I did have to go back to the car for more tissues. And Food Dance really does make things better. The waitress asked if we wanted cocktails, looked at me, and said she knew I definitely did. And since I’m definitely not pregnant, hell, yeah, I wanted a martini!

So, yeah, pretty crappy way to end the day. Pretty sure I’ll cry myself to sleep. And tomorrow? Back to the grind, I guess.

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