Prompt: Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week.
"Okay, that's it. You can sit up now."
My Ob-Gyn pulled off his gloves, and I sat up, clutching my paper coverings around me. The nurse was gathering up all of the items that usually accompany my annual exam and placing them in a tray. Dr. S. rolled his chair over to the counter and began writing in my chart. I stared at my bare feet, shivering a little in the chilly office. Though Dr. S. had been my doctor for twenty years, recent visits had been devoid of the usual doctor-patient small talk. He was a reminder, someone who brought everything from 2003 back in horrific detail.
"So when are you planning on getting pregnant?" The doctor interrupted my foot inspection with his comment. He was flipping through the pages on my chart.
I stared at him, the anger that was always just below the surface stirring. Better to be angry than cry, I thought.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"When are you planning on getting pregnant?" Dr. S. repeated, looking at me expectantly.
"You told me that I could not get pregnant again," My hands clenched into fists and my voice rose, verged on hysterical. "You said that it would kill me if I were to get pregnant again."
"That was two years ago," he said, waving a hand dismissively.
"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" Teeth clenched, I was prepared to punch my own doctor in the face for what appeared to be his insensitivity. It did not bode well for our doctor-patient relationship.
"They've done research, there are new drugs on the market," Dr. S continued, ignoring my belligerence.
"Really?" My voice was laced with sarcasm.
"Start taking an aspirin a day," he smiled. "Blood clots may be the culprit."
"You are telling me that I CAN try to get pregnant again? You're telling me that you've changed your mind?" My anger had drained away, as had the urge to cry. Those emotions were replaced by a little spark.
"Get dressed, and we will talk some more," Dr. S. and the nurse left the room. I sat there, stunned, hugging that spark to my chest as if my life depended on it.
***It would take almost two more years after that day, lots of ups and downs, but that spark is now my son.
I'm sorry for the pain you had to go through... I know how some doctors could be so insensitive sometimes. But I'm glad that there's a happy ending for you. What a blessing your son is! :)
ReplyDeleteUGH!!! i really do understand that doctors need to sometimes separate themselves from the situation (read: patient) at hand to keep from becoming too emotional but it steams me nonetheless. i'll never forget the way my OBGYN, whom i ADORE, behaved when i suffered a missed m/c. so cold and nonchalant. UGH! anyway SO HAPPY to read the last line! :)
ReplyDeleteWow, just wow!
ReplyDeleteSo beautifully said. And I'm with Andrea, WOW!
ReplyDeleteOh wow, you. This is so very powerful and raw.
ReplyDeleteI love how you conveyed your emotions (clenched fists and teeth, for example) and oh my heart- I love how your used the word spark.
(I'm so sorry for your hurt, and am so very happy that this ended the way that it did.)
Brilliant. THIS is a pivotal conversation...despite your doctor's insensitivity. What great news and I adore your author's note at the end. I think that was my favorite part :)
ReplyDeleteI agree that this really is a pivotal conversation - life changing. I could feel many of the emotions you must have gone through. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteThe false infallibility of this 'professional' must have given your anger-management skills a good workout! But the good news at the end of your 2 year battle made it all worthwhile, I'm sure!
ReplyDeleteIncredible! Loved the pendulum swing of emotions.
ReplyDelete