So how 'bout that long awaited Quirk #3? I know you've all been sleeping next to your computers and it's starting to get uncomfortable, but I can explain. In my book, November never even happened, remember? So that much time hasn't really passed. And second, I wasn't completely aware of Quirk #3 until the other week so the point of writing Quirk #3 weeks ago is mute. So there. Ok, ok so secretly November did happen, but it was spent trying to unravel the mystery that is my body. Doctor appointments, tests, more doctor appointments, more tests. There wasn't much time to ponder on the passing month or focus on much else besides work (which got incredibly crazy) and feeling like a lab rat.
When Gary and I started seeing a doctor 6 months ago, I thought I was prepared for this process (and believe me it is a process). I had a lot of time before-hand in the many failed months to think about the possibilities and what I could deal with. I thought I was ready and willing to accept whatever master plan my Heavenly Father had put in place for me. My first doctor visit was a success and left me feeling understood and more confident than I had felt in some time. The following appointments . . . . . . not so much . . . on the confidence part that is. Now before you hit comment and tell me all about the personable doctor you know that can simply mumble some gibberish and a baby appears, let me tell you that I've been an emotional mess through no fault of my doctor. And yes, he is a man and can't offer me that I-know-what-you're-going-through connection that all your woman doctors can, but he can offer me 40 years of experience and a kooky sense of humor, both of which is infinitely more important to my husband and I than Oh, you have a vagina? So do I! Let's band together! And yes, you read right 40 YEARS. In addition, my doctor has not once made me feel unimportant or diminished my problems in any way, nor has he tried to tell me what to do or force anything on us. I'm always presented with a handful of options and Gary and I can then decide what is best for us. So yes, I like my doctor and we don't want to switch, but I've still been having an emotional melt-down every time we leave his office. I thought I could handle this! Why am I even crying? All we did was blood-work today and I'M CRYING! Needless to say, my husband has been a little confused with all the water works after every single appointment. Frankly, so have I.
After months peppered with appointments and numerous tests that have proved useful, but still haven't given us concrete answers, we finally moved onto a lapraoscopy surgery that took place the beginning of Thanksgiving week. So yeah, anybody who thought I was looking like I had some serious weight gain going on, that wasn't the second helping of turkey and stuffing or the 3 pieces of pie, that was the air the doctors pumped into my body to make MOVING MY INTERNAL ORGANS AROUND easier. Gross, huh? Needless to say, all that extra air really looked & felt like extra pounds which was pretty depressing. More painful than the two incisions and bruising was that AIR getting up into my chest and shoulders so even the tiniest breath would send pain screaming through my torso. IF THEY CAN PUMP THE AIR IN, THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO PUMP IT OUT!
Two weeks after the surgery, Gary and I showed up for the post-op appointment. This was the appointment that we would discuss what the doctor had found during the surgery. I'd spent two weeks not knowing and I was a little nervous about the outcome. What if there is something seriously wrong? Amazingly, my doctor came right in and spoke with us for a bit, but didn't give us specifics of my surgery because the hospital hadn't sent over my op-report yet and he didn't want to give us misinformation based solely on his memory. What? Are you telling me that I might leave here today still NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?! So we waited. Gary sat relaxed in the chair while I fidgeted on the table cursing the stupid hospital. They'd only had TWO WEEKS. After another 45 minutes my post-op report was finally retrieved and my doctor sat down to share all the juicy details. The information delivered was indeed serious, but laced with lots of options and hope. I sat gripping the edge of the table, leaned forward and just ate it up. This was the good stuff. We talked options and the steps we wanted to take. Then we left and I felt good. No I felt great, relieved. I was talkative, laughing and in good spirits. Gary was just waiting for the floodgates to open.
ME: Wait, we just found out about the most serious stuff we've had to deal with since we've been married and I'm not crying. Aren't I supposed to be crying? I cry after every other appointment. I may never carry a child! Why am I not crying?
GARY: . . . . . . um, maybe because you actually know what's going on now and you don't have to guess about why you're not getting pregnant. All the previous appointments were just leg-work that never gave us any real answers. Now you know.
ME: Oh . . . . . you're so smart!
GARY: I know.Thus Quirk #3 presents itself. I cry myself into a sniveling heap when there may not be anything wrong and I feel relief when given bad news. Doesn't that seem backwards to anyone else? I believe my husband had it right though. It takes patience, strength and endurance to battle through trials. I guess I just need to know what I'm battling. Exactly how much patience, strength and endurance am I gonna need?
Give me reality. I'll deal.
Yeah, I think that's my new motto.