mydarlingcurse.com

a pox, i cry! a pox on doreen! gah, it took me a while, but i’m over it.

here is what happened….

throughout this entire IVF process my doctor has told me that my weight is an issue. that the anesthesiologist (that stupid bitch, doreen) would not do it if i wasn’t below a certian weight. and then she made me accountable for it, with frequent weigh ins. and once i hit the target weight, i stayed below it, through the entire course of stimulation, etc. and we are talking a difference of a pound. there was a pound between what the certian weight was, and where i was at. one pound.

so this last wednesday was the “retrevial”, it’s the procedure where the doctor goes in a takes the eggs out of the follicles on your ovaries. basically, it’s a big needle up your hooch-can poking at your ovaries - sounds painful. yeah - that’s why the knock you out for it, that’s why they need fucking doreen, the bitch anesthesiologist. and it’s a great day. you know that within a week they will be transfering the fertilized embyos back in. that on this day, the day of the retrevial, your eggs will be fertilized. some might call that the moment of conception. point is, it’s a big day.

and dipshit doreen, detestable doreen, did her damndest to ruin it. the nurse came in and asked questions, she said it looks like my doctor was concerned about my weight, i said i made all the weigh ins, and gave her my weight as of the last weigh in. she said that was fine and that she’d send the doctor in. not my doctor, but the doctor doing the procedure.

the doctor came in, no big deal, he’s calm and confident and showing excitement - after doing 800 of these, he knows what a big day it is. than dragon-lady doreen, despicable doreen, came in and it all came to a screeching halt. basically, she said that my BMI was over the limit at which she was comfortable. she said that because of all the extra tissue around my neck (meaning “fat neck, double chin slob” and while i’ll admit to being overweight, i don’t have a fat neck!), and because of all the extra weight on my chest, read big tits, she wasn’t sure if she could maintain an open air way.

WHAT?

then she went on to question the reasoning of why i was even there! how could my doctor have been so irresponsible in letting me get this far in the process? there was NO WAY she’d have even let me go through the course of stimulation, in her eyes, i had no right to be there. and she wasn’t comfortable doing her job in keeping me out for the procedure. apprently the extra weight of my chest made her lose confidence in being able to maintain an open airway. out of all the airways in the room, she should have been more concerned about her own.

she banished husband from the process. he pleaded his case, as most debate champions do, with tenacity, but damnable doreen had the power to kick him right the hell out and she did. that’s when i called the whole thing off.

fuck it, i said, let’s go home. i’ll ovulate the eggs out eventually. do i even need an anesthesiologist? can’t i just bite the bullet and brave through it? a needle to the ovary 15 to 20 times, can’t be that bad. i have a huge tolerance for pain, beat it doreen, we don’t need you. let’s go home.

i’ll send the doctor back in and you can talk to him about it, doreen said and strutted out of the room.

yeah, as soon i stop sobbing, i’ll be able to form words, as soon as the guilt lifts, i’ll get right on that. but for right now, all i could do was hang my head and choke on the moment, this moment where my life was hanging in the balance. it’s all my fault, i kept saying, all my fault. the weight was mine, literally and figuratively. i knew this was coming, i should have tried harder. (now, looking back, not once did the doctor, nurse or bitch anesthesiologist ask me to step on a scale that day). all the work leading up to this moment became a fog, it didn’t matter. through the tears and the rage, the only thing that kept coming back to me was that dreadful doreen was going to call the whole thing off. my tits too big, my neck to fat, doreen was sure that i’d choke if i lay on my back and go into cardiac arrest.

hubbin, just as floored as i was, became useless. his arm on my shoulder like an army pal, he kept saying everything was going to be ok. he never once came valiently forward to put doreen in her place, never told me i wasn’t fat, never said “honey, i’ve known you a long time, and your tits are fine with me.” i left to use the bathroom.

as i opened my door all i could see through tears and kleenex was the doctor talking to someone, disgusting doreen. they stopped thier hushed tones and i scurried down the hall to the loo. i could feel doreen’s judgemental eyes on the back of my head, then on my ass, i could hear her thinking - she’s just too fat.

when i came back from the bathroom, the hallway was empty. i snuck back into the room and grabbed the bag with my clothes in it. i was leaving. hubbin said we should wait for the doctor.

this conversation is a blur to me. i remember starting to cry again, telling him what a horrible day this was turning out to be, that i felt like dishonorable doreen had the power to stop this whole thing in it’s tracks and send me home. he assured me that wasn’t true. then he went on to say that he didn’t think there were any special circumstances here. he’d done this procedure of women of my size and women who were larger. there have never been complications, not to worry, and he patted my knee.

i hated the fact that despisable doreen was going to be in there while my husband was not, that i had to give up my care to someone i did not like and DID NOT trust. that’s a horrible feeling, and it sucked out almost all of the joy that i had. and right then and there, i knew this wasn’t going to work.

i remember telling hubbin that i was going to show them, some bratty hoyden reared her head, middle fingers extended, fuck them! i’ll show them, i’ll show them all! i’ll give them some of the best goddamn eggs they’ve ever seen. i’ll breathe fine on my own (which i knew i would). i went under and woke up sassy. the nice nurse, hubbin and diabolical doreen were in the room when i woke up.

did i do ok? they all said i did great. any trouble doreen? no, no trouble at all. did my airway close, did you need to do anything special? no, everything went fine. then she gave me a shot for pain. she missed the IVF port and got most of it on my hand. so not only is doreen a total bitch, but she’s not very good at what she does, obviously.

i looked at hubbin. he smiled, you did great, nine eggs. i smiled, that was good. i thought there would be more, but that’s only because i had 28 last time, and friends that is too many, way, way way toooo many. nine was good. i told hubbin to hand me my cell phone. who are you going to call? he asked. a personal in-home trainer and a plastic surgeon, i said. i’m going to lose weight and get a boob job.

he didn’t laugh. he knew i was serious.

and here is what kills me, absolutely kills me, dispite doreen’s emmense lack of tact, she has a point. and it’s a point that has been made to me over and over and over more times than i can count since…oh….about the sixth grade. i am fat. and everyday i tell myself that i’m going to change or get better. i’m going to get going today. but i don’t, i never have and never will. and when this all started my doctor told me she’d like me to wait three months and lose about 40 pounds. no, i said, i’ve waited long enough for boo, and i’m not waiting anymore. and that’s when she told me where i needed to be at for doing it now. and when she said it, i did it. and kept it off. i was at her mark when doreen walked in and for her own pathetic judgements threw the whole thing off.

and it has tainted this entire experience. if this doesn’t work, it’s my fault because i’m fat. whatever happenes, it’s all my fault.