Bad paper

You'd think my first clue would've been when I checked into the doctor's office and found out I was at the wrong place. It was time for my yearly gyno appointment, and I was returning to a doctor that I'd only seen once before (a year and a half ago). Of course, there were two gynos that I'd only been to once, and I picked the wrong one to show up at. The correct office was gracious enough to reschedule my appointment for this afternoon and not charge me for my lack of brain cells.

Bad paper #1 - the ticket I received when I was headed to the correct doctor's office this afternoon. I did a rolling stop. My mind was obviously elsewhere. My eyes sure saw the officer zipping right at me. I pulled over and he hastily sped me thru the process, leaving me a bit dazed as he darted back to his lucrative hiding place.

Bad paper #2 - the one that stuck to my fanny as I was nervously waiting for the doctor to come into the room. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if she walked in the door 30 seconds or 30 minutes after I sat down. It would've been plastered to my heiney either way. They must be made with some specific material that increases the stick-to-the-butt factor. And those paper tops we're made to wear? They need to be made in different sizes. I was lucky it didn't rip on me. That happened before... when I had to see a male doctor... talk about humiliating.

So there I was this afternoon - paper bib wrapped around my upper half like those silly sweaters that really serve no purpose outside of decoration, paper blanket on my lap (why do they even call it a blanket? it could only be a baby's blanket, considering the size) (and I tried my darnedest to tuck it under me wherever possible without ripping it), and paper table cover plastered to my underside like a band aid. My pulse was racing so high, and I realized I was as afraid of this as I am with the dentist. Never really noticed it before, but I sure felt the anxiety this time. Then she walks in... and the rest is a bit of a blur.

This is what I drove home with: I need to go back to see her in two months. At that time, I need to inform her of my decision as to whether or not we want to have more children. (Yes, we have two months to decide this. These thoughts are enough for a separate blog... I'll post another day.) I also need to be in a better place with my health when I return. If my weight hasn't dropped in numbers, I at least need to be able to honestly tell her that I'm exercising & eating better - regularly. Sometime between now & then I need to have a fasting blood draw, so they can do a thorough check. I also need to go for a digital mammogram. Aside from those things, she told me I was just dealt a bad set of genes... a "really bad set of genes"... and it's up to me to do all I can about it. Someone with my weight could live fine with it, but with everything I have... basically I'm screwed if I don't start making some serious changes immediately. I'm at a much higher risk of diabetes and heart disease because of the state of my PCOS. That's outside of the family history of those, too. I also most likely have something called incisional endrometriosis (I'm pretty sure that's what she called it) in a section of my C-section scar (we can do surgery on it if it bothers me enough, and there's other steps necessary for me to take starting now for it). Oh, and if I do get pregnant without making changes first, I will most likely deliver the baby very early (more than Kirsten's 32 weeks), have gestational diabetes, heart problems, or I could even die. Oh, and the baby could have serious defects or die, too.

Can you see what a dark visit this was? I guess I've got my work cut out for me. Lots of thinking to do. And action. Unless I want to die, which isn't something I'm actually planning on doing any time soon.

Thanks for sitting thru this. I needed to write out as much as I could before I forget what she said. My mind's already numbing up and it hasn't even been an hour since I left there.

Hmmm...