Junk drawer

By way of an update, some odds and ends:

• I feel I've given a mistaken impression. I am not at all upset or concerned about having a C-section. The heavily beaten path that is my vagina has seen more traffic than the Beltway at rush hour — what's a cranium more or less?

  I don't mean to be flippant about something that means an awful lot to so many people. I just want to communicate, once and for all, that it doesn't mean much to me. The baby has to get here somehow, and if I can't request that FedEx leave it punctually on my doorstep, signature required, then the mode of delivery feels unimportant.

  In my earlier post I hoped to convey that my sadness has been about more than that. It's not so much that I mourn not having the birth I'd always dreamed of, because, well, I never really dreamed of one. (If I dreamed at all, it was of not looking fat, sweaty, and red-eyed in postpartum photographs, glasses askew, nipples akimbo. I am exactly that shallow.) It reaches farther than that, encompassing the last few years of trying, failing, and losing. It's big, and I may be grappling with it for a while.

  I appreciate and salute the comments you've shared here about your own feelings of loss, whatever has engendered them. It's still more proof that no one gets out of this — infertility, becoming a parent, life — unscathed. As if we really needed it.

• Add another term to the long list of alarming or hateful phrases that should never be said to a patient: congenital anomalies.

  You should never, ever use such a phrase unless and until you have serious suspicions and are on the cusp of the diagnosis of same. You should never, ever say such a thing to me when you cannot:
  

  1. explain exactly which congenital anomalies we're looking for;
     
  2. explain exactly why we're looking for them; and
     
  3. see me the same fucking day to rule them out, goddamn it.
  
  Last week, you see, I got a call from a nurse who informed me that the doctor had requested that I have a CAS. "What's that?" I asked, since my experience has led me to be chary of any medical procedure that doesn't introduce itself by its full name. "A congenital anomalies scan," she answered breezily.

  A what?!

  Despite my blandishments, which I assure you I delivered with my customary charm and politeness, the nurse could tell me nothing beyond that. "I think," she said hesitantly, "it's because of the diabetes."

  Through tireless badgering, which I find almost as useful as charm and politeness, I learned that it is routine in cases like mine; one of the risks of gestational diabetes is that when it's uncontrolled it can result in giant mutant freak babies unusually large babies, and they like to keep a careful eye on growth. I'm not panicked any longer about the scan itself, which will take place on Monday.

  I am, however, deeply resentful that no one seems to think twice before flinging around such frightening terms. I don't necessarily expect them to offer "a super fun-time carnival fiesta scan party-a-go-go" or anything, but what in the world is wrong with simply "an additional scan to check on the baby's growth"?

• I will say nothing about the recent election beyond this: The only sure cure for despair is action. Voting's not enough, so, please, if you're unhappy, pick something and do something. It's only two years until the next Congressional election.

  There's a lot of work to be done.

Posted by Julie at 05:51:13 PM in I've learned a lot...but I'm not sure it's worth it.

Comments

Junk drawer

By way of an update, some odds and ends:

• I feel I've given a mistaken impression. I am not at all upset or concerned about having a C-section. The heavily beaten path that is my vagina has seen more traffic than the Beltway at rush hour — what's a cranium more or less?

  I don't mean to be flippant about something that means an awful lot to so many people. I just want to communicate, once and for all, that it doesn't mean much to me. The baby has to get here somehow, and if I can't request that FedEx leave it punctually on my doorstep, signature required, then the mode of delivery feels unimportant.

  In my earlier post I hoped to convey that my sadness has been about more than that. It's not so much that I mourn not having the birth I'd always dreamed of, because, well, I never really dreamed of one. (If I dreamed at all, it was of not looking fat, sweaty, and red-eyed in postpartum photographs, glasses askew, nipples akimbo. I am exactly that shallow.) It reaches farther than that, encompassing the last few years of trying, failing, and losing. It's big, and I may be grappling with it for a while.

  I appreciate and salute the comments you've shared here about your own feelings of loss, whatever has engendered them. It's still more proof that no one gets out of this — infertility, becoming a parent, life — unscathed. As if we really needed it.

• Add another term to the long list of alarming or hateful phrases that should never be said to a patient: congenital anomalies.

  You should never, ever use such a phrase unless and until you have serious suspicions and are on the cusp of the diagnosis of same. You should never, ever say such a thing to me when you cannot:
  

  1. explain exactly which congenital anomalies we're looking for;
     
  2. explain exactly why we're looking for them; and
     
  3. see me the same fucking day to rule them out, goddamn it.
  
  Last week, you see, I got a call from a nurse who informed me that the doctor had requested that I have a CAS. "What's that?" I asked, since my experience has led me to be chary of any medical procedure that doesn't introduce itself by its full name. "A congenital anomalies scan," she answered breezily.

  A what?!

  Despite my blandishments, which I assure you I delivered with my customary charm and politeness, the nurse could tell me nothing beyond that. "I think," she said hesitantly, "it's because of the diabetes."

  Through tireless badgering, which I find almost as useful as charm and politeness, I learned that it is routine in cases like mine; one of the risks of gestational diabetes is that when it's uncontrolled it can result in giant mutant freak babies unusually large babies, and they like to keep a careful eye on growth. I'm not panicked any longer about the scan itself, which will take place on Monday.

  I am, however, deeply resentful that no one seems to think twice before flinging around such frightening terms. I don't necessarily expect them to offer "a super fun-time carnival fiesta scan party-a-go-go" or anything, but what in the world is wrong with simply "an additional scan to check on the baby's growth"?

• I will say nothing about the recent election beyond this: The only sure cure for despair is action. Voting's not enough, so, please, if you're unhappy, pick something and do something. It's only two years until the next Congressional election.

  There's a lot of work to be done.