Anger and Armor

Rench · Post by **Rench** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 10:33 am

Note: This will be one of those (thankfully) occasional diatribes into some personal aspects of my life that I expect most don't want to know, or at the very least are not interested in. No offense if you don't feel like reading on, -R

"I'm PREGNANT!" she snapped, with an almost sarcastic, "I told you so" attitude to it.

"I fuckin' told you so!!!!" I yelled back, already starting to grin. I was standing in the parking lot at work, before dawn, arms full of crap I had brought home over the weekend, smart phone and it's damn slim design cocked between shoulder and ear at an uncomfortable angle.

Off the bat, this was not the cutesie first pregnancy of a couple. While no less awed at the creation of a child, it was layered and perhaps even tempered with the experience of the first one.

The hitch in her announcement was that only 2 weeks ago, she'd been confirmed by one of those pee-sticks as not pregnant. A quick run of the math meant she was only 2-3 weeks along, possibly even less depending on all types of bio chemistry that is far beyond most of us.

We decided to wait until a doctor's appointment to tell even our closest friends, and later in the morning I got a call back that we were seeing a different doctor's office than last time around on Friday, 5 whole days away.

We idled away those days, telling ourselves that it could be a false positive, but confirming our standing name choices. I posted a Herculean effort cleaning up the "junk room" until it could almost be believed that it had a potential to be a nursery.

Then came the doctor's office.

The midwife was pleasant, very supportive. Blood is drawn to confirm certain hormone levels, and then the long-awaited ultrasound. For anyone who's been through this, you know it's anti-climactic. Dark room, big screen, and everyone oohs-and-ahs at a black pixel on a shades-of-gray screen.

Except when they can't find the black pixel.

After several moments of probing around, the midwife stops, points to an area on the screen that is a shade darker than the rest. If you squint and have a Pope's faith, you can almost make out a concentric circle, and she tells us that *might* be something forming, but it's very possibly just too early to tell.

Now, as anyone who's ridden with me for a little spell will tell you, I can look at a hurricane on the radar and convince myself there's a dry spot just a few miles up.

So I figure, ok, there's something, and we are earlier than these people ever see, which is a slightly sunnier look than what she said, but pretty accurate. Tears are streaming down my wife's face already. I've known her since we were teenagers, and this is not new. She's a bit of a pessimist, and a clinical worrywart.

The midwife re-assures us, says to come back in a week, and we'll see something then. I drive my wife home in tears, re-iterating what the midwife said, assuring her that things are still moving along, and even speaking to her negativity in that it's far beyond our control, but we obviously areb't having any trouble getting pregnant if we need to try again. The next day we get a call that all her labs look great, she's as pregnant as they can tell by her blood.

A week goes by, I try to keep the baby-spirits up, with decent success. We go back in, ultrasound tech this time. She asks my wife the same string of questions. Both of us working in healthcare know the routine, but some of them are basic facts which should be on the chart, IE, last menstrual cycle(it's always been longer than most women). Hers was a while back, which, through the pseudo-science math of an OBGYN office put her at 10 weeks along. My wife politely explains, again, that that's incorrect, her cycle is long, we think we're about 3 weeks along now, maybe 4, possibly less. The tech does her looking, finds a fully formed and obvious sack, shows us, then we wait for the doctor.

The doctor comes in, saying she really wanted to see a yolk developing at this point, and there doesn't seem to be one. Again, tears, I'm a little preturbed now, but even the doctor says, it may just be too soon. Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm already evolving the seed of "so if it's too soon, why are you trying to set benchmarks?" But, she's the doc, she knows best.

A week later (same questions, the tears start streaming early, at the question about last cycle again), lo and behold, a yolk in the sac, but the doctor said she was hoping to see a heartbeat. This told by a midwife. The nurse and tech before her not even acknowledging that my wife is quietly sobbing during the standard questions (2nd time, same appointment, "wait, when was your last cycle again?") That little seed splits with "A HEARTBEAT?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! IT WAS AN EMPTY SACK 6 DAYS AGO!!!" This phrase tastes bitter, like a stale whiskey as I swallow it down, letting noone else hear it. She says to come back in 3 days.

3 days, many tears, and a few near-arguments about the competancy of this office later, my wife has to go in, by herself (I'm at work), and have a tech, again with the questions, tell her they're not sure what they see, MAYBE the fetus, but the doctor will call her later. My wife doesn't go back to work that day, just comes home, insists that I stay at work despite my many offers.

I come home in the morning, I'm starting to get angry. I explain my logic, that the office has stopped just short of admitting that it's too early for them to get a solid hold on the situation, and yet they're still throwing out benchmarks, WHICH THE BABY KEEPS HITTING, about 3 days after they say it should. It's not that I think the doctor is wrong, it's that she consistently overshoots what's happening, so she's just incompentant at adjusting to the situation. There's progress at every appointment, followed by my wife being emotionally cut off at the knees, and yeah, this shit is getting old.

The doctor calls later, and agrees, there's definately a fetus, but wants us back in 3 days to look for a heartbeat again.

Now, mind you heartbeat or not, fetus or not, there's nothing that could be done anyway if this thing isn't going to make it. It will miscarry, my wife will have a heavy period at some point, and we'll be back to square one. There won't be extraordinary measures, no medal-winning performance by the doctor and her office. Just a "better luck next time!" and a pat on the back.

Which, oddly enough, I'm ok with. I have faith in both a higher power and millions of years of evolution kinda making sure our bodies do what's right. My wife and I talk about it frequently, and she's mostly on the same page. It's the drawing out, the constant disappointment the doctor is offeringg that has me on the verge of a full-blown rage.

I'm going back in a few hours. The doctor says we'll know for sure this time. I fucking hate her for even trying to sound so sure. She's a lying bitch who's out of her depth and her profession gives her too much of a God complex to admit it. I think I'll actually hate her a little more if the heart is beating away and perfectly healthy. I don't think I'm even going too far to wonder if the constant stress she's causing on my wife is more hurtful to a baby that's too small to help in any way now, other than to say give it time to grow.

MY wife has asked, implored, and nearly warned me to keep my mouth shut during the appointments. I'm doing better than she knows. I don't want to cause her more anxiety at just how pissed off I am, but I've made it clear I don't appreciate how they're handling this.

I couldn't explain why at first, but I just had this urge to wear my riding jacket to today's appointment (I usually scoff at the guys walking around the mall in the winter wearing their flashy riding coats. I mean, come on, it's not like you rode anywhere in Chicago in February). Mine in particular will make me look like an extra from an 80's film. So I started to probe this idea, why my jacket became some kind of security blanket.

Our armor is, at it's simplest, a hopefully effective shield against death. Let's face it, 70-100 mph about 24" off the pavement and then leaning into a turn; that's sure and complete death, if not for the fortunate confluence of engineering, gear, skill, and maybe more luck than we like to admit sometimes. And when all these fail, a final line of defense, synthetic or leather, is our armor.

So I've been kicking that around for a few days. Am I defending myself from Death, my unborn child? Will it be Death in the room while they look, yet again, for a heartbeat?

But it also goes further. I think of my work gear, that not only keeps a hostile environment out, but keeps me encapsulated in a survivable environment. The thing is, after a time, even the fully encapsulated body will start to poison itself. Your body creates it's own heat, sweat, toxins, that want and need to be vented.

No matter how much you love your gear in a hard lean, you can't wait to toss it at the next stop, just to get fresh air, cool off, not feel so bound.

I'm not wearing it just to keep the doctor's ill-founded opinions out. Maybe I'm wearing armor to help keep myself in...

-Rench

calamari kid · Post by **calamari kid** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 11:29 am

We are still just naked apes, in love with our totems and symbols. When faced with threats against which we cannot act, we turn to the protection of what we know. We hope that the magic contained within will be effective protection from this new danger. If by so armoring ourselves we can keep the mind from eating itself, have we not found some measure of success?

Best of luck with the proceedings. All positive juju available headed your way.

MoraleHazard · Post by **MoraleHazard** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 12:08 pm

Dealing with the want kids stuff ATM, I can relate to your anger vis a vis the doctor and the frustrations of your wife. I'm with you too in that I'd rather hear an honest "I don't know" than multiple wrong guesses. Hang in there, Rench.

Post by **DerGolgo** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 1:41 pm

Considering what you describe, the error in the doctor's math and how this error remains at a constant magnitude, I'm sure you're right and the doc is just a few days out, it'll be fine.
Fingers are definitely crossed, anyway.
If it makes you feel better, go wear the jacket. If nothing else, it's a great anecdote you can tell your kid when you go shopping for his or her first riding jacket.

Toonce(s) · Post by **Toonce(s)** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 1:47 pm

tl;dr

Just kidding. Been there myself. Specifically, pregnancy, miscarriages, careless doctors.

Courage. It's ok to circle the wagons as long as you are both inside the same circle. Armor can also cause isolation.

My least favorite kind of armor is rationalization and self delusion. The truth fucking hurts sometimes, but we gotta live and learn.

Bigshankhank · Post by **Bigshankhank** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 2:16 pm

I learned a long time ago that miscarriages are much more common than people would normally believe. Shit, there would be at least one blood descendant of BSH if that were not true. Que sera sera, it hurts a lot when it goes wrong but you'll recover and get to try again. Wear whatever armor you need to help deal with it, though.
Keep in mind, and something that my doctor told me (well, us I guess at the time) is be very careful who knows within the first trimester, because referring back to the first part of this post, it that's number of people you'll have to explain it when if it doesn't make it into the second one. And more condolences in cases like that are not a good thing.
Chin up.

CarolinaBoy · Post by **CarolinaBoy** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 2:49 pm

I hope things turn out for the best. I wasn't sure where this post was going, but I read the entire thing contently. This became very meaningful to me by the end.

I can relate on some level to the uncertainty of the pregnancy. Hang in there. Kudos on being there for your wife in this time.

Mk3 · Post by **Mk3** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 5:17 pm

Our armor is, at it's simplest, a hopefully effective shield against death. Let's face it, 70-100 mph about 24" off the pavement and then leaning into a turn; that's sure and complete death, if not for the fortunate confluence of engineering, gear, skill, and maybe more luck than we like to admit sometimes. And when all these fail, a final line of defense, synthetic or leather, is our armor

I'd rather be lucky than good. Looking at my luck track record, I'm pretty god damned good.

I think I'll call and piss you off so bad you'll laugh. Its worked for the last 15years, I bet it will tonight too, then I'll hit on your wife, just for good measure.

cheer up ugly.

sun rat · Post by **sun rat** » Thu Feb 23, 2012 10:34 pm

i've had kids of my own.

docs are just fucking guessing on their GOOD days.

MATPOC · Post by **MATPOC** » Fri Feb 24, 2012 4:54 am

We have been through a roller-coaster of emotions over the years before the fist successful pregnancy, even switched to a different OBGYN in another state because of the experience with a first one, let me tell you the roller-coaster does not end, our son is 3 1/2 and there is no end in site.

Rench · Post by **Rench** » Fri Mar 02, 2012 12:02 pm

Just talking to Jaeger, realized I never followed up. Thanks for the vent, that was therapeutic enough.

**disclaimer: I typed out some communications as they were said by a certain tech. They are not in any way racist, ethnocentric, or xenophobic. This is how the woman talks while delivering potentially devastating news to an expecting mother and other medical findings.***

Appointment went as follows:

Arrival (we were meeting there since she works at the hospital). "Did you ride?!?" No. (smirk)

Go in. Ultrasound performed by tech with little mastery of english, less mastery of bedside manner. "When was last period?" (while probing with ultrasound. Mrs. Rench, surprisingly, "Don't even start with that, we've covered it, it has no bearing on my conception date." (internal applause form me)

Quoth the tech: "No hahtbeeet yet!" with the noted lack of any bedside manner, remember, we were told if no heartbeat today, it was an early termination.

"Fetus mehsha 2 millimetah. Dat mean 5 week by chaht."

At this point, I start coming around. I've been silent the whole time, cause I've been told to be by my wife. This COMPLETELY debunks their bullshit timetables, and backs up my theories.

We go to the next room, where we wait for the Physician's Assistant (somewhere between a nurse and a doctor, for those who haven't worked with one). She comes in, looking very somber.

"Well, we see in the measurement that the fetus is showing 5 weeks old, and last time I believe we measured 6 weeks..." (rustling of papers)

Again, Mrs. Rench "Noooo, last time they didn't see one at all, or thought they could see one forming"

PA has a lightbulb go on, "oh! well, this is good then! It gives us something to go on, cause before, you know, using your last period and all..."

This would have been a good time to zip and collar my jacket if I was truly trying to hold myself in. Instead, I half grunted, got a look from my wife, and went back to observe-and-detest mode.

PA continues: "I'm still worried about your hormone levels. Your HGC should have doubled between these 2 tests. Actually, it goes up exactly 66%, so more than doubles..."

I deserve a nomination. I'd like to thank the Academy for my performance going forward. Noone in that room had any inkling how close I was to braking all chivalry while trying to shake some sense into that woman.

After she goes on about a few more things that made no sense, she asks if we have any questions. My wife politely looks at me and asks if we have any questions. I perk up with my patent-pending smile of "ohpleaseohpleaseletmeouttoplay," Mrs. Rench realizes her mistake and tells the PA, "nope, no questions."

The PA, assuming some kind of bedside manner, says "no, really, (Rench), anything at all?"

"I have my opinions. I've been told to keep them to myself."

Fingers are now in the dyke, but this can't possibly last much longer. Mrs. Rench's shoulders slump, as the PA prods me again.

Again, with remarkable self control, I only ask about the hormone level. Not anything else over the last 3 weeks. Just the most recent retarded thing that's been put forth. She proceeds to talk slowly like she's explaining it to my daughter, and *I'M* the one who doesn't get simple math. I stop her, according to my wife I started using hand gestures I don't recall, as I explain to her that 66% and double are vastly different numbers, so which one is it? After she muddles her way through a backtrack, I calmy state "The whole process has been rife with these these kinds of inconsistencies, that's my problem."

So we're going back Monday. Mrs. Rench asked me to not wear the jacket. Says I look "scary." I told her it's officially my good luck charm now.

-Rench

Bigshankhank · Post by **Bigshankhank** » Fri Mar 02, 2012 12:27 pm

Rench wrote:...I told her it's officially my good luck charm now.

-Rench

This is what what you consider good luck? I'd say it sounds more like an effective restaining device.

I guess in my experience having the wafe tacitly beg you to keep your yap shut (in any situation, but especially one involving lady-parts) is one request that should be honored. I can only imagine what it has taken for you to keep your composure, but its what you've got to do.
Good luck.

roadmissile · Post by **roadmissile** » Fri Mar 02, 2012 1:25 pm

Rench wrote:Mrs. Rench asked me to not wear the jacket. Says I look "scary."

I have a feeling it's not so much the jacket as the boiling internal turmoil leaking out, but then when I think of you in your jacket I think you look downright jolly.

Is this the face of a scary guy?

/RM

Post by **DerGolgo** » Fri Mar 02, 2012 1:39 pm

So your theory panned out and it's good news I take it?
Good on yer mate!

Also good on keeping it together, I think that 66%%/double thing alone could have prompted me to massive, if verbal, violence.

You seem to be doing okay, I think. Let them know you're paying attention, it'll make them pay more attention.

Mk3 · Post by **Mk3** » Sat Mar 03, 2012 10:33 am

He does look like an overstuffed bag of pansies in that particular picture.

I'm glad my concussion kept you both a little more chipper. "oooooh that mussa huuuuuuurt"

Her fractions are perfect if you use the new math. Dumbass.

Other than a crappy zookeeper, how's the spawning coming along?

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Anger and Armor

Anger and Armor