Friday, March 9, 2018

The day dreams died

Four years ago yesterday we found out we'd never have children.

I remember that day like it was yesterday.  Hubs and I drove separately.  I was planning to go back to work after the appointment.  I remember squeezing my car into a tiny spot in the underground parking garage.  I remember meeting hubs in the lobby.  I remember the elevator ride to the 12th floor, complete with stops on the NICU floor, the labor floor, and the postpartum floor before we got where we were going.  I remember anxiously sitting in the waiting room while two young children being "supervised" by what appeared to be their mother and grandmother played loudly (as an aside, there is nothing that anyone can say that makes a valid case for children being in the waiting room of a reproductive endocrinologist's office).  I remember being shuffled back to the doctor's office.  I remember the atta boy he gave hubs for his stellar test results.  And I remember the complete lack of compassion that he delivered my abysmal test results with.  I remember sitting there but not feeling like I was in my own body.  I could see his mouth moving but I didn't hear anything.  I knew exactly what he was saying and how bad it was.  I remember being shuffled from his office to the office of the financial guy and listening to his pitch because we didn't have the energy to tell him that it was useless information for us.  I remember being shuffled to the IVF nurse's office and pretending to listen to her because, even after we told her we wouldn't be doing IVF, she insisted we'd change our minds, and we didn't have the energy to fight her.  I remember sitting on a bench in the hallway crying to myself and texting a friend while hubs used the restroom. I remember taking the elevator down to the parking garage, paying for my parking, and making it to the car before breaking down.  I remember that by the time I made it to the exit, my 15 minutes between paying and exiting the garage had already passed, and I couldn't get out.  I remember the parking attendant coming to the gate, seeing the look of me, him saying "aww, sweetie, it'll get better" and then scanning me out with his employee badge.  It's not lost on me that the only ounce of compassion I got that day (other than from my husband) was from the parking attendant. 

I don't know why this crappy anniversary hit me so hard this year.  Or even why I remember every moment of that day.  Generally speaking, things get less hard with the passage of time, but not this day this year.

In about an hour we'll head out to see my family, celebrate the birthdays of all of my nieces and nephews, and meet the new baby.  The trip was planned before I realized that yesterday was going to be so hard on me.

I know I've neglected this space lately, but today, on a day where I'm feeling not being able to have children viscerally, I'm glad I have it. 

16 comments:

  1. All of this has me screaming for you. How can anyone with a medical license consider themselves a care giver when patients are treated this way. It’s inhuman and I so, so sorry you had to suffer this. There’s nothing right about this situation.

    And I agree with you: children have zero place at an RE’s office. It’s cruel and if parents can not arrange a sitter, cancel your appointment. Do not subject others who are already hurting to more pain.

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    1. I know right?! Literally every single person in an RE clinic is there because they know the pain of infertility. Why inflict unnecessary pain on others? Also worth noting that the same people that bring kids to RE clinics are the ones who get pissy when others give them the stink eye.

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  2. I am so sorry that you are feeling this anniversary so hard right now, and have to follow it up with a child-centric family event. I cannot believe the lack of compassion you received on that day. I want to hug the parking attendant, and smack the nurse who insisted you'd change your minds. How incredibly insensitive at best, and cruel at worst. And the children in the waiting room? Argh. Also having to pass labor and delivery. Poor design for that office location, for sure. I'm sorry this happened to you, and I totally get remembering every moment of it. I feel for you in this moment of visceral remembrance. Sending big, fat, squeezy hugs.

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    1. The clinic was in a large research hospital on like the 11th floor, so chances of the elevator stopping were almost certain, but the particular floors it just happened to stop at was just cruel. My former gynecologist was actually in this same hospital, but one of my primary reasons for changing was that I couldn't bear going back to that hospital.

      And thanks for the much needed hugs!

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  3. Ugh. Maybe you should start planning some kind of life affirming vacations for this anniversary going forward. Instead of it being the day the dream died, make it the day you had new dreams.

    I'm more annoyed that, You got bad test results and no one bothered to talk to you about the other health implications of those results and instead pushed you to learn about IVF. Even though my Doctor was compassionate, I had a similar experience with his staff ignoring my other health concerns, which made me back out of the whole thing.

    UGH AND THE KIDS IN THE WAITING ROOM. They really need to make a rule about that shit.

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    1. I wish we could make vacation plans! Unfortunately for both hubs and I, we work jobs where a March vacation isn't even remotely possible. :( But I love the idea though!

      I'll never understand the lack of compassion. Like, it's not hard to ask someone how they feel.

      And yes to rules about kids in waiting rooms!

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  4. I am so sorry. As much progress as we make in our recovery, there are some things (certain dates, specific reminders of what we will not get to share with our children) that may always hurt. Write if you want. Don't write if you don't want. But please know that we are always here and we understand. <3

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    1. Thanks, IP! I do love this space and I miss writing in it regularly. Sadly, however, work life is crushing my soul right now and there's not much free time for writing (or sleeping, exercising, etc.). So basically I need balance.

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  5. First of all ... no facility that has any kind of infertility treatment should make you pay for parking. I am still so, so bitter that I had to pay for parking when I had my HSG. I was unprepared and had to write a check while sobbing. Like a winner.

    That aside ... I am amazed at the rollercoaster of things being OK and then being so NOT OK. I hear you and I am with you. I hope the time with the nieces and nephews was OK. You are resilient and lovely, and I hope you remember that.

    Also? Fuck that doctor and those nurses and the people who brought the kids. Srsly.

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    1. I SO AGREE ABOUT PAYING FOR PARKING!!!!! Like, I already paid you a whole lot of money. The least you could do is let me park in your shitty garage where I inevitably leave with (another) ding in my door for free!

      Thank you for the affirmations. I needed those today.

      And yes, fuck the whole experience. You'll be happy to know that on a later visit (to get my records to transfer to my gynecologist), I loudly and unapologetically informed the receptionist and everyone else in that office could go fuck themselves.

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  6. Sending many (((hugs))). Why is it that these signficant dates always seem to coincide with someone else's baby/child/pregnancy-focused event?? And, having encountered my share of kids in the RE's waiting room, I agree. Not the place for them. :p Hope your week got better!

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    1. Thanks, Loribeth! The weekend was fine (minus the whole breastfeeding baby part), so that was good. And I don't know what it is about dates either. This particular date falls on my mom's birthday too. Ugh.

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  7. I'd punch everybody in that office for you.. or at the very least, I'd give them my deadly stare which will give them the worst ulcer ever.

    I am so sorry you have to be at a family event at this time. Family events are always so hard for me too. I hope you're ready with a list of rewards you'll give yourself after you're done with the event. I have some ideas on what to put in that list: a new bag, a kilo of chocolate, and a big dinner just for you and the hubs.

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    1. I gave myself permission to day drink and brought my own bottle of Scotch just in case there was no alcohol at my parent's house (they aren't big drinkers). :) Seriously though, I promised myself new handlebar grips and pedals for my bike and new running shoes if I made it through. I still need to order, but I earned it all!

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  8. I'm so sorry I'm late to this. I didn't keep up with blog reading when I was away.

    I know exactly why it hit hard this year. Because sometimes it just does - usually when we least expect it. And because you knew you had to get in the car the very next day, and go and meet a baby. Talk about a perfect storm. So don't beat yourself up for it. I'm glad to read you're treating yourself.

    Sending huge hugs.

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  9. When I read this it feels like it could have happened yesterday. I want to give you a hug! How awful that you received no compassion from any of the staff. People need to realize that while it might be another day at the office for them, it’s a life changing event for the patient. Thank goodness for that parking attendant. I hope the rest of the anniversary was bearable.

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