Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Waiting and angry

My period is late and I am most definitely not pregnant. How many times I have I posted this?  What the fuck kind of life is this?

You know, I was noting to a dear friend that I used to be much much funnier on this blog.  Sure, I was discussing topics ranging from the horrible to the miserable, but could pull it off on the page with darkly comic flair.

Well, sorry if I am unintentionally conjuring up images from the movie Office Space, but I have lost my flair.  Maybe the gravity of endless dead babies sucked it out of me.  Why is this my life?  Why can't I just get a period on time and not worry that I have to fly to Boston for a really fucking painful hysteroscopy?  Why is everyone on facebook posting pictures of their babies or hugely pregnant bellies?  I've been in the thick of this hell for nearly four years, you would think that I would be hardened to it but I am not.

There's a new boss at my office, I'm talking the big boss, our President.  She runs the entire region.  She chain smokes like a chimney.  She has one teen-aged daughter to whom she is a doting mother, but makes her staff constantly listen to how she sacrificed a great deal of her personal life for her work (in social justice-y, mission-driven work, you actually often hear comments like this).  She's made public pronouncements about women having babies "too old to have fun with them" and while I respect her tenacity professionally, personally I try to avoid her like the plague.  I ran into her outside our building (smoking) and not thinking, I had clasped my side because well, my ovary was throbbing and this is the pain I deal with regularly now, and she asked if I was ok.
"I'll be fine."
"Do you need to see a doctor?"
"Nah, I'll be ok.  I've seen a lot of doctors."
"What's wrong with you?"
"I have a chronic health condition.  There's not much they can do."

And there you have it folks.  That's is the best I can do.  Five miscarriages, four D&Cs, three hysteroscopies and a bajillion ultrasounds, and I was able to cut her off at the chase and end the third-degree with the phrase chronic health condition.  BAM.

Brilliant or pathetic, I'm not sure which.  

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