I've got the "products of conception" tucked snugly in my purse. Scott helped me package it all in a handy zip-loc freezer bag. Gestational sac was kind of cool-looking, but not really something I ever hope to see again outside of my body, and, more specifically, in a toilet.
This woman next to me appears to be about 45 and apparently she, her kid Skylar (now out of the restroom) and the rest of the family are having a healthy baby boy. Judging from the rest of the family, I am guessing his going home outfit will resemble the one Kid Rock wore at his last performance. I am tempted to sneak over, peek over their shoulders and whisper, "Hey, he may have a penis, but you can't be sure he has an anus until you actually SEE him."
I quit Facebook (again) because 3 "I'm pregnant" announcements yesterday alone made me want to stab my eyes out with a tuning fork.
Skylar, really. Ditch the sparkly hat. You're nine. And why are you spilling water all over the floor? It's a cup. Drink from it. This is not preschool.
I am happy one day, crappy the next. Happy, crappy. Happy, crappy. Happy, crappy. Where will we end up?
Oh, dear Lord in heaven, is this your idea of purgatory for me? If I see one more fully stretched uterus walk into this room I will scream. There is a dear little old lady sitting on the other side of me named Victoria, apparently. She is less than impressed with Skylar, as well. Or is it "Skyler"? One can never tell with the trendy names. Anyway, the nurse just called for Victoria, and Skyler's dad yelled out, "Hey, Victoria, it's your turn." Classy. Victoria, once again, was less than impressed.
Victoria. Great name.
I got a nurse named Shari this time, she had two kids 18 years apart, with 2 miscarriages in between - at 5 and 17 weeks. She told me it just wasn't my turn yet. I heart Shari. I asked Shari if she was going to be one of those stories you hear about..."Yes, I was calling back to talk to a nurse, Shari..." and the receptionist responds, "I'm sorry, we've never had a nurse by that name." and then I get the chills because Shari was just what I needed today.
Shari did a little jig in her tennis shoes to prove to me that she was real. I've also got her email address on a prescription pad, just in case.
The doctor I saw today was no nonsense but she was all heart. She asked me why I didn't bring my little prize in a reusable Tupperware. She said she enjoys watching women try to ask for the Tupperware back. What are they going to store in it, macaroni and cheese? This doctor is my kind of lady. Same twisted sense of humor. She had me laughing so hard I could hardly see.
She took 9 vials of blood to check for clotting disorders, thyroid issues, etc., etc. and said that this thing will happen; just gotta figure things out. She said that women automatically think something is wrong if they have miscarriages...that there is so much about human reproduction we just don't know. I have two genetically healthy kids that I carried full term, so it's just been a craptacular year for me. She also said that getting pregnant 3 times in a year does not indicate that I have any trouble conceiving. If I could have hugged her, I would have.
Back out to the waiting room, now a lady with a pig nose and 9 chins announced to everyone that she will be naming her baby the most overused name of 2009. PICK SOMETHING ORIGINAL. Seriously. I almost turned around and asked her to reconsider. If we get any more Pottery Barn I will have to claw my eyes out, again. And that won't work, because they were already clawed out because of the uteri. Remember?
I'm hopeful, I like the fact that I got to see 4 different doctors who all said the same thing...I've had craptacular luck.