Yes, You Get a Gold Star.

Warning: ugly infertility thoughts about maternity fashionwear to be liberally spewed. Stand back. Flow is toxic, but amusing nonetheless.

Early this morning, I found myself in a waiting room other than that belonging to Dr. Uterus to get an X-ray of my elbow. It’s been bothering me for the past month, although I didn’t have any particular trauma, just poor elbow posture while cross-stitching and sewing. I finally got fed up and made an appointment at an orthopedist’s office. I was directed to first go to the imaging center on the ground floor for x-rays and then up to their office with my x-rays. Sounds simple enough.

I’m constantly surprised when I am in waiting rooms other than for Dr. Uterus, that there are people other than us infertility girls. There was such a diverse cross-section of people. Old people, young people, really old people, people in wheelchairs, people with broken limbs. You just don’t see that where I usually go. It’s the same parade – well-dressed, well-coiffed, slightly self-concious and very obviously not pregnant. That’s what I see at his office. And the occasional husband.

Unfortunately, there were quite a few people ahead of me at the imaging center, and even though I got there on the dot, I got to wait about 35 minutes. During that time, I was treated to not one but three forms of exquisite torture:

1) They had the TV tuned to some daytime talk show. No offense to those who find day time programming scintillating, but I wanted to gouge my eyes out, rupture my ear drums and turn into Helen Keller, it was that vapid, wasting, and truly godawful.

2) There was a woman whose phone constantly kept ringing with a ringtone that was set on nauseatingly loud and it sounded like an infant shrieking. She actually thought it was cute. I swear. And it ringed many, many times.

3) And then there was the real torture. One of the nurses who was calling people into the back was probably about 5 months pregnant. How did I know? Gee. Two things. First, she had the tell-tale bump, and two, she was wearing a t-shirt that declared “Oh Baby!” across the front, which as far as I’m concerned says, “I’m pregnant!” WTF?! Isn’t this a doctor’s office? Aren’t you supposed to wear scrubs on top and bottom? I know that they have invented maternity scrubs. Could you just not find a pair? Are they as scarce as underwear at Britney’s house?

More importantly, do you just have to announce to the entire freakin’ world what is already obvious?! I really just wanted to say, “yes, we all know that you’re pregnant, you don’t need to announce it on your shirt as well. Go put on a nice drab olive green top and get back to work.” It’s one thing to have the obvious bump which makes it pretty clear. It’s another to have it and then remind everyone (meaning those of us who are infertile) that you have it by wearing an announcement as well.

Luckily, she wasn’t the one who called me back. Keeping my mouth shut would have been even more exquisite torture.

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