Approaching the two-week mark and I have about as much charm as a saguaro cactus. Full of pissed off disgruntled hornets and probably an angsty bear or two.
When I went to the doctor for my last appointment before the physical miscarriage occurred (about two days before), I had been aware of the fetal demise for a couple weeks already. I managed to remain positive somehow but the Ultima-Bitch was also there to make sure that didn't last for very long. Between still feeling nauseous and annoyed with having to wrestle with my boobs, I was also having the shitty reality of "haha guess what, all of this physical discomfort is going to result in nothing good" sinking in more every day.
And that day sitting in the packed waiting room sandwiched between a pregnant woman early in her second trimester thumbing through a glossy issue of the latest Parenting magazine and a terribly unpleasant man, I felt the last of my tolerance for humanity slipping away. And the cranberry juice I'd drank earlier churning in my stomach. I don't even like cranberry juice. Stupid tart liquid. Stupid kidneys, why can't they fancy oranges more? Stupid doctor's office. I wanted to be back at my apartment soaking my Tempurpedic memory foam contour pillow with tears like I'd spent the last few Fridays doing.
I wasn't even mad at the woman to my right. She was radiating an air of general unease that seemed to indicate she was no more excited to be there than I was. And she kept wrinkling her nose, exhaling though it sharply once in a while, and shifting awkwardly in her chair; something was obviously offending her sense of smell. I knew because this was the same way I found myself struggling with "Okay, I'm in public and something fucking reeks, but proper social conduct confines my reaction to suffering silently while screaming GROSSSSSS in my head and fighting the urge to flee to the nearest pocket of fresh air." It sucks, and I know it does.
I turned to her and said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice that you're uncomfortable. I thought perhaps my perfume might be too strong?" The spritz I'd administered was well over 4 hours old but then again not everyone loves Victoria's Secret Dark Orchid Eau de Perfum as much as I do. She seemed startled at first by my initiation of conversation then humbled by my concern.
"Oh no, no you're fine," she said with a small smile before dropping her voice and adding, "It's the guy sitting on the other side of you." I took this chance to glance at the man seated to my left. The one who'd had his elbow jabbed into my ribcage despite my leaning my torso 45 degrees away from him for the past 15 minutes. The one who was practically sweating out a 30 pack of Keystone Light through his pores amongst who knows what else. The one who was shamelessly picking his nose and wiping it on his pant leg repeatedly. The one who had boobs as big as mine and sweat stains resembling 5 of the 7 continents.
Ahh yes, that guy.
I returned my gaze to the woman and said, "I see." She gave me a friendly smile as she rose due to her name being called by the nurse to go back and mouthed "Good luck". She was referring to my being left next to the Bobo from Finding Bigfoot doppelganger. I smirked at her; sarcasm is my language. I decided I liked her and immediately moved to her now vacant chair.
This caused Bobo to break away from his quest of finding sasquatch in his nostrils and see what all the fuss was about. We looked at one another directly for the first time. I narrowed my eyes in as obvious of a "Leave me the hell alone" glare as I could muster. Then I took out my phone to establish the tone of I'M BUSY, NO TALKY, assuming that was the end of it.
It wasn't. Never assume anything. I couldn't even open up my Mahjong app before I heard a, "So what are you in here for Blondie?"
Uh, did I magically get transported to a jail cell? Wait, I'm still sitting in a doctor's office waiting room? Ugh. I quickly put my evil glare back on and whipped it to the obnoxious man, hoping I'd somehow gained the power to shoot muzzles from my eyeballs.
"It's not particularly any of your business, now is it?" I snapped. I didn't want to go out of my way to be just straight up bitchy but I noticed he was now scratching his groin like fire ants had been dumped into his sweat pants.
Yes, allow me to repeat that for those of you in the back who could not hear: He was pawing at his junk in public, in front of men, women, and children of varying ages.
I cleared my throat loudly and said, "Stop what you are doing. NOW." By then the other patrons of the waiting room were noticing the exchange as well as his putrid behavior. It was distressing several of them.
"If it itches, you gotta scratch it," the jerk said next with a wink. HE WINKED.
That was so it. That was the final straw.
I'd been practically dying to vent my frustration on someone since I found out my baby had died. I'm the kind of person who tends to internalize my rage and sadness until it explodes like that can of soda you shook up before giving to your friend. I have encountered a lot of unfair, disappointing things in my life but nothing, nothing, could prepare me for the freight train of emotion that came with knowing I'd not only been carrying an unviable pregnancy, but that I would have to continue to do so until my body took care of it or I elected to have a D&C.
I was sad. I was devastated. I was beyond livid. And now some disgusting pig in the room I have to sit in while waiting for more bad news is going to not only annoy the living hell out of me, but be completely crude in front of small children? Nope. Not okay. I've had it. Time to open the cage for Ultima-Bitch to come out.
I dropped my voice and leaned closer to him despite not wanting to, and said, "I don't fucking care if you had ninja stars teleported into your scrotum. Stop doing that before I have you hauled out of here. And if you say one more word to me, I have a can of police grade mace in my purse that will burn your damn eyes right out of your skull."
Only had to be subjected to about 5 more minutes of strained tolerance before I myself was called back. Literally the only time I felt elated to go to one of these appointments. I went through the motions of it, drove myself home, and then started to cry.
But I was used to the crying by then. And that's why when it still continues to come now I don't even try to fight it. Does not matter if I'm in public now or not. I could not stop it if I tried.
It's all part of the process. A process I don't wish on anyone. But I won't lie, it felt pretty damn good to not hold my emotions in that day in the waiting room.
xoxo
Angela
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