Getting Over the Bump

I would say that I didn’t really start noticing pregnant women until we were about six months into our honeymoon phase of trying to conceive.  And then, they didn’t really bother me – I smugly thought that it would only a matter of time before I too was sporting the Bump.  But, a full year into our journey – after another six months in which I popped Clomid with no results and was told that my referral to the RE was imminent – I began to see them a little more differently. I began to see them as infertile women see them: unwelcome reminders of what I don’t have, can’t do and can’t seem to get.

I met with the RE, who I didn’t like and knew immediately that I was going to find someone else.  I was then referred to Dr. Uterus by a friend who had already been down this ugly path and she raved about him (as I would too).  I don’t remember if she told me that he shared his office with a high risk OB or not.  I’m pretty certain I googled him and found the place’s website which very clearly shows the other doctor and what she does.  But, even then, I didn’t get it. I figured they probably had separate entrances, etc.

Little did I know.

My first visit, I’m sitting in the waiting room and I am surrounded by Bumps. Bumps of all shapes and sizes, some big, some not so big, some threatening to take over an entire corner.  And I was more confused than anything.  It wasn’t until we started treatment that I came to know just how bad it was.  There were always Bumps. Morning, afternoon, it didn’t matter.  And, it bothered me everytime I went there. 

I began to complain about it to Mr. X.  I would moan and wail on the phone when I would call him after my appointments because it was just so painful, and I couldn’t keep it bottled up. Who better to share it with than my partner in crime?  He didn’t see it that way.  He told me, much later, how much he hated getting those phone calls.  I completely understand now. I would hate to get those phone calls, too. 

What I have come to realize, however, is that he feels that I should get over it, move on, greet the waiting room with its Sea of Undulating Bumps with equanimity.  I’m afraid I’m not that strong of a person.  I have tried, dear Lord, have I tried.  But, I would say 90% of the time, I am at least mildly bothered, and sometimes outright upset.  I think part of my being bothered is that I resent the fact that I have to deal with the Bumps in the one place where I had thought I could be free of them, my safe haven from happy couples lovingly gazing at her navel, cheery pregnancy posters and baby magazines.  If not your RE’s office, then where? 

If it was a normal waiting room, I think I would be able to deal.  I would understand that it is expected that on any given day, in the general population, you are going to run into someone who is visibly pregnant at the doctor’s office.  That I can handle.  But, the fact that it is in the place where I thought that my infertility and all of the emotions that go with it would be respected and understood, turns my normal “meh” reaction to the Bump into a full-blown “Get Me Out Of  Here” plea.  

You would think that time, with its healing properties, would have worked some magic on this.  Unfortunately, it’s been the reverse.  Time, with all of its happenings – including five failed IUIs and two breathtakingly awful miscarriages – has made it that much harder to sit in the room with Bumps.  They mock me with their smooth curves and the knowledge that within that bump resides an honest to God infant – you know, the kind that I can’t seem to grow. 

As much as I dislike these feelings and wish that I could look past the Bumps, I know that for now, it’s just not going to happen.  They will still bother me, without any other effort on their part other than just sitting there when I walk in.  And, I will still resent that they are there, in the one place I should not have to see them.  The vicious cycle will continue as long as I continue to walk into that room.    

top left image: SeraphimC; middle right image: Pet_r; bottom left: ToniVC

7 thoughts on “Getting Over the Bump

  1. I still can’t get over the bumps. just yesterday I counted 8 bumps of varying sizes within just one hour of walking downtown. 8! and each one still stings.

  2. After 2 m/c and a lap/hyst to remove my uterine anomaly… I finally got pregnant and have stayed that way. Problem is my pregnancy has been one explosion after another. I still get upset when I see other pregnant women – and I am pregnant. But they are up and about, enjoying a carefree ride to parenthood – the kind of journey I, and many of us, will never have.

    In the end, it is an act of pure self-preservation. You feel how you feel and it just is what it is. I used to call the 2 blocks around the hospital near my RE “ground zero.” I would just stare at the pavement as I navigated an army of bumps. It is a wretched feeling. And sometimes, after having the kind of trouble we have had, that feeling just does not go away…

  3. How can it not irritate you? It’s only us infertiles in my RE’s office, so I only have to deal with the gaggle of HR chicks across the hall from me at work, all of whom are in their 20’s and all of whom eventually get pregnant. Hmmm, I sound slightly bitter. Imagine.

  4. I think it’s like waiting for a prosthetic limb in the same waiting room with marathon runners waiting to see some sports med expert. Or watching other people eat a really good meal, while you get dry crackers. You see all these people blithely, unappreciatively basking in their ability to do or even excel at what you can’t seem to manage, what’s been denied to you by bad luck and circumstance. No one wants a constant reminder of “you can’t have this.”

    I can ignore street bumps, but having to sit among a whole room of bumps for an extended period–well, that’s just torture.

  5. I have to say that would make me more than a little crazy! There should be some sort of No Bumps in the RE’s office rule. That’s just common courtesy, isn’t it?

    In other news, Blog to Blog love is happening at Memoirs today. You are one stop on my hunt for new blogs. Come check it out & play along if you like!

    (I will warn you that there is a birth involved in the project. I stumbled upon it, but it’s clearly marked so you can avoid it if you like.)

  6. Hey, they still bother me too, & it’s 10 years post-loss & 6 years post-treatment. (Luna, I’m glad I’m not the only person who counts…!) My dh’s attitude is similar to yours. But if you’re not “safe” in your RE’s office, then where??

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