Black Monday is how it will forever be known to me.
Yesterday was easily on the top 5 worst days of my entire life.
It was my first official doctor’s appointment.
Let’s begin at the beginning. The office staff told my husband that my first appointment would be solely just going over what I should be eating and handing me my necessary reading material. Because of scheduling conflicts and this info, Mr. Cat and I decided to keep our original appointment and that I would go by myself. Not a big deal, or so we thought.
But they are liars. I got fully examined…….. three times by the time all was said and done. But that’s not the sole reason this was the worst day. Oh no. Nope, that was just the vomit on the cake.
But let’s retrace the horrible steps shall we? I got to the doctor’s office, minutes late because I went to the wrong building (I hate that kind of crap), and of course have to go to the bathroom. I went into the restroom and noticed what every pregnant girl doesn’t want to see. Blood. There wasn’t a lot, but enough for me to sound panicked when relaying the info to the nice nurse practitioner.
They sent me over for an ultrasound immediately following my blood work right after my appointment. They didn’t seem too concerned, but anxious to see that I was in the clear with the ultrasound.
I wished that I had eaten lunch at this point instead of a small snack. Dammit.
I wonder to yet another building to get the image scan, and much to my dismay they have to give me an internal exam as well as the top goo gah jelly ultrasound. Not fun times.
Then I travel back to the doctor’s office and wait………… and wait……………. and wait some more to actually meet the doctor who is rushing in from a birth to give me the results of the ultrasound. It isn’t looking too great at this point, and it’s getting more worrisome by the second. I finally meet the horse and dog loving doctor and hear the dreaded news………
“Your pregnancy has ended. Your nine weeks along, but the baby has stopped growing at seven weeks and it no longer has a heartbeat.”
It took all the strength I had not to fall apart completely break down and curse the scheduling gods that my sweet and much stronger husband wasn’t with me.
Sure, I shed some tears, but I was determined to walk out with a bit of dignity, not that I had much left.
I walked into that office greeted with congratulations, and I walked out with looks of pity and remorse. Just gut wrenchingly awful.
I didn’t make it to the elevator without some tears. I put on my sunglasses and big girl panties and prepared to call my husband. From the first hello he knew I had bad news. I paced for a good 20 minutes talking to him and feverishly trying to find my damn car, because of course I’m completely turned around and can’t figure out where I parked among the several hundred parking lots that look eerily familiar to each other and their doppelganger adjacent buildings.
Now I’m cursing the car gods that they didn’t give me a car with a beeper to locate it.
So here I am, sitting at home about to hit the pharmacy, hoping that I don’t miscarry before I’m able to get back to the dreaded doctor to perform a surgery to “clean me out”.
Might as well take my heart too, because I’m pretty sure I’m not using it at this point.
