negative
We walked to the gym the other day, and on the way it was like I was absorbing aromas rather than smelling them. There was the toast being somewhere over there, probably that house five miles in that direction, the roses in a garden some place east, the smell of cigarette smoke coming from that passing car in an road in another TOWN...and then this guy walked past us reeking like manwhore and I nearly threw up. I'm not pregnant, but obviously the Universe has it in for me in a "let's fuck with her" kind of way, what with the Spidey-like sense of smell it threw at me, along with the rapid onset nausea, and the friend exclaiming "I bet you ARE pregnant!!" (which, seriously, why? Because you are?) earlier in the day, all of which lead me to wonder, fuck, maybe I AM pregnant.
And then I went to the bathroom and found out I had my period. The end.
Fortunately I was at the gym at the time because I'm not as bullet proof as I like to think I am. Had I been at home, I think I would have sobbed my little disappointed heart out, despite feeling like an idiot while doing so because seriously, the odds of this hair brained scheme working? Well, actually, are a lot higher than the odds of conceiving Daniel.
ANYWAY, point being, I feel stupid for feeling so sad about this, but I am sad, but thankfully I was at the gym when the Universe laughed at me because there is NO WAY I was gonna break down and sob outside of the privacy of my own home. Hell, I don't even break down and sob inside the privacy of my own home, not unless I've been torn a new one by some bitch ho', but had I been there, I reckon I about would have. I did have to suck it up a few times though, and look at that wall over there so that no one could see the face scrunching while my eyes went suspiciously watery and red.
And therein lies my attempts at grieving. A few dry heaves while squatting forty kilos on the Smith machine.
But about that bitch ho'. Literally the same moment I was being introduced in a very special way to my next child's father, I looked over and saw my notes on a chair not three feet away. The pages were open so it was all rather surreal, lying there with my ass on a pillow and my legs in the air and reading all the SHIT that whorebitch had written about me, so as I was getting my special delivery, ahem, I was also pointing to my notes and stating that "this is a LIE".
The, uh, delivery nurse freaked out and told the other one to move the notes, then she told me to think happy thoughts and that she'd come back and talk with me after I'd marinated in the manjuice for a while.
Which she did and she was very nice, and now that conversation is also a part of my medical history, because she's had to note my side of the exchanges in question. And hopefully her impression of me, because as she said that she thought I was very reasonable and not at all as I was described.
On the day that I'd found out that, after going through the motions and expense of an IVF cycle, I only had two follicles, rather than giving me the benefit of the doubt and not attaching an emotion to my silence, she noted that I was "disgruntled", which according to dictionary.com, describes a displeased, discontented, sulky or peevish state.
Which is hardly an accurate description.
I was devastated, which is in no way any of those other things.
That day in January was recorded too. It was an awful day for me, and it wasn't the news so much as it was the exchange with the nurse involved, and I literally cried all day. Man, I NEVER do that. I even had to cancel a meeting, for crying out loud.
There had been two phone calls that day: the first was when I was advised a report from my endocrinologist had not yet been filed, call back in a month, goodbye, and the second was when I called back (HOURS later, because it took me that long to fortify myself against the chance I'd encounter the same nurse. Which I did. Good one, Universe) to let the unit know the report had been mailed on November 21, would that help locate its whereabouts? Both calls comprised of me mostly telling her (a number of times) that I wasn't angry, please, that I was upset, could she help me? But because SHE was SO angry, she kept at me like I was angry at HER.
Which is what she wrote in her notes. She took almost three quarters of a page to describe how angry and unreasonable I was, and then she topped it off by saying that I was verbally abusive.
God, I wish those calls were taped because people, of the maybe ten minutes TOTAL we talked, I spoke for around two. The rest of the time? When I think about it, I a) get upset all over again, and b) am reminded of any random Rocky movie when the weaker opponent is getting the shit kicked out of them and the stronger one keeps coming at them relentlessly, so to be described in that exceptionally negative way is again, very, very upsetting. Especially so when one considers that pretty much everyone I've met since then has been new to me, and they've all been crucial to my treatment, and those notes have been the basis for the first impression they've all made of me.
I've not imagined the coolness in their approach of me. I've not imagined the reticence to engage in conversation with me, regardless that the conversation I've tried to instigate has been about my inner workings and prospective future.
The only person I've spoken with in this time from whom I've felt a genuine warmth and compassion this entire time was a nurse who met me last year. Anyone else, even if they've seemed nice, I've sensed something that I've just pout down to my own insecurities. Now I wonder though, you know?
I've got an appointment to see my doctor next week, and he's the assistant director so should be the right person to issue a complaint with (extra points hopefully scored when I let slip that the nurse in question told me I should complain about HIM). I want copies of all my notes AS IS, and then I want the notes revised. Those pages and any pages referring to said need to be removed because there is NO WAY I'm continuing with this unit, and there is no way I want those notes to follow me back to the place with the waterfall in the foyer. I even called them the morning after I started Synarel, because I was freaking out from the negative the vibe I was getting from The House Of Shit, and I wanted to know if it was at all possible to transfer this cycle to their loving hands. Which it was not. Duh, because had it been this story might have ended differently.
And as an aside, I was transferred to the accountant and even she showed me great compassion and an extraordinary amount of reassurance despite the fact that I'd just commenced a cycle at a place NOT where she worked.
I swear, I am SO upset about this that if I wasn't sleeping The Lawyer, I'd be consulting with him to see what my legal options were. That one romp in the hay was the most expensive root in history though, as because of it, there goes all my free legal representation FOR EVER.
And then I went to the bathroom and found out I had my period. The end.
Fortunately I was at the gym at the time because I'm not as bullet proof as I like to think I am. Had I been at home, I think I would have sobbed my little disappointed heart out, despite feeling like an idiot while doing so because seriously, the odds of this hair brained scheme working? Well, actually, are a lot higher than the odds of conceiving Daniel.
ANYWAY, point being, I feel stupid for feeling so sad about this, but I am sad, but thankfully I was at the gym when the Universe laughed at me because there is NO WAY I was gonna break down and sob outside of the privacy of my own home. Hell, I don't even break down and sob inside the privacy of my own home, not unless I've been torn a new one by some bitch ho', but had I been there, I reckon I about would have. I did have to suck it up a few times though, and look at that wall over there so that no one could see the face scrunching while my eyes went suspiciously watery and red.
And therein lies my attempts at grieving. A few dry heaves while squatting forty kilos on the Smith machine.
But about that bitch ho'. Literally the same moment I was being introduced in a very special way to my next child's father, I looked over and saw my notes on a chair not three feet away. The pages were open so it was all rather surreal, lying there with my ass on a pillow and my legs in the air and reading all the SHIT that whorebitch had written about me, so as I was getting my special delivery, ahem, I was also pointing to my notes and stating that "this is a LIE".
The, uh, delivery nurse freaked out and told the other one to move the notes, then she told me to think happy thoughts and that she'd come back and talk with me after I'd marinated in the manjuice for a while.
Which she did and she was very nice, and now that conversation is also a part of my medical history, because she's had to note my side of the exchanges in question. And hopefully her impression of me, because as she said that she thought I was very reasonable and not at all as I was described.
On the day that I'd found out that, after going through the motions and expense of an IVF cycle, I only had two follicles, rather than giving me the benefit of the doubt and not attaching an emotion to my silence, she noted that I was "disgruntled", which according to dictionary.com, describes a displeased, discontented, sulky or peevish state.
Which is hardly an accurate description.
I was devastated, which is in no way any of those other things.
That day in January was recorded too. It was an awful day for me, and it wasn't the news so much as it was the exchange with the nurse involved, and I literally cried all day. Man, I NEVER do that. I even had to cancel a meeting, for crying out loud.
There had been two phone calls that day: the first was when I was advised a report from my endocrinologist had not yet been filed, call back in a month, goodbye, and the second was when I called back (HOURS later, because it took me that long to fortify myself against the chance I'd encounter the same nurse. Which I did. Good one, Universe) to let the unit know the report had been mailed on November 21, would that help locate its whereabouts? Both calls comprised of me mostly telling her (a number of times) that I wasn't angry, please, that I was upset, could she help me? But because SHE was SO angry, she kept at me like I was angry at HER.
Which is what she wrote in her notes. She took almost three quarters of a page to describe how angry and unreasonable I was, and then she topped it off by saying that I was verbally abusive.
God, I wish those calls were taped because people, of the maybe ten minutes TOTAL we talked, I spoke for around two. The rest of the time? When I think about it, I a) get upset all over again, and b) am reminded of any random Rocky movie when the weaker opponent is getting the shit kicked out of them and the stronger one keeps coming at them relentlessly, so to be described in that exceptionally negative way is again, very, very upsetting. Especially so when one considers that pretty much everyone I've met since then has been new to me, and they've all been crucial to my treatment, and those notes have been the basis for the first impression they've all made of me.
I've not imagined the coolness in their approach of me. I've not imagined the reticence to engage in conversation with me, regardless that the conversation I've tried to instigate has been about my inner workings and prospective future.
The only person I've spoken with in this time from whom I've felt a genuine warmth and compassion this entire time was a nurse who met me last year. Anyone else, even if they've seemed nice, I've sensed something that I've just pout down to my own insecurities. Now I wonder though, you know?
I've got an appointment to see my doctor next week, and he's the assistant director so should be the right person to issue a complaint with (extra points hopefully scored when I let slip that the nurse in question told me I should complain about HIM). I want copies of all my notes AS IS, and then I want the notes revised. Those pages and any pages referring to said need to be removed because there is NO WAY I'm continuing with this unit, and there is no way I want those notes to follow me back to the place with the waterfall in the foyer. I even called them the morning after I started Synarel, because I was freaking out from the negative the vibe I was getting from The House Of Shit, and I wanted to know if it was at all possible to transfer this cycle to their loving hands. Which it was not. Duh, because had it been this story might have ended differently.
And as an aside, I was transferred to the accountant and even she showed me great compassion and an extraordinary amount of reassurance despite the fact that I'd just commenced a cycle at a place NOT where she worked.
I swear, I am SO upset about this that if I wasn't sleeping The Lawyer, I'd be consulting with him to see what my legal options were. That one romp in the hay was the most expensive root in history though, as because of it, there goes all my free legal representation FOR EVER.
posted by aibee at 16:27
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