I cheated last week and ate a small amount of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream and a bunch of candy. Only did one spin class. Lost half a pound. Go figure. My body was probably thinking okay bitch, that’s more like it, thought you were trying to starve us. I wonder what would happen if I ate the whole container. Just kidding. Still staying the course.
I had a dentist appointment…at long last. Since Boo has started kindergarten, I have officially started taking care of myself again. I had to have two fillings and a little buffing work to be done on my 2 front teeth. I asked for an Ativan. I was such a mess. I hate going to the dentist with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I hate the whole thing, the tools in my mouth (don’t even go there), the noise of the drill, the suction, everything. I turn into such a baby. Past trauma no doubt. I still have some work to do but this time, I’ll take the bus and they can give me TWO Ativans. I just need a little bonding done on my front two teeth to improve their appearance. I’d prefer to have veneers or something but it’s too expensive for me right now. Yes, vanity drove me into the dentist office.
Got the results of my ultrasound sent to me. Very short report. Normal. Multiple calcified fibroids. (Years ago I had uterine embolization to stem heavy flow and pressure on my bladder.)They measured the big one. The end.
I walked around feeling unsettled, thrown off. I started talking about it to my husband and suddenly it was Throwback Thursday and I was just aggravated and sitting in the RE’s office talking about my fibroids and the bumpy environment in my uterus and then the gynecologist’s office and no one really giving me hope that surgery could help me get pregnant and I didn’t know what to do but I didn’t want a hysterectomy…and all the anxiety and pain of infertility and medical procedures came flooding back. The memory of helplessness and being pissed off and bitter and not feeling in control AT ALL ABOUT ANYTHING came sneaking back. I had to ask my husband if he remembered the conversations the same way as I did because really I have mostly “forgotten” them. I started envisioning a conversation with the specialist. A woman my age doesn’t really need a uterus and if I’m uncomfortable I can just remove the whole damn thing or be uncomfortable until menopause and then the doctors can give you a prescription for that. That I will look like the idiot who should have had surgery before cause I’m back complaining again about something that has no treatment and for this I will wait weeks for an appointment and sit in the office for 90 minutes past my time to be delivered the news in 3 minutes. Or I can suck it up and do nothing cause really, I’m not sick. That is good news, not bad. It took me 20 minutes but I got over it. All of that noise over a few typed lines about my less than perfect uterus. Didn’t see that coming.
I shut down the valve that let out my steam. My husband says he would never give up the son he has now for a chance to go back and start again. I crawl off the ledge of anxiety and am back on solid ground. I am reminded of the treasure that is my Boo. A gift I would never return in a million years. Thanks for the ride, infertility, **@!! you.