Friday, September 7, 2018

The Gyn

My husband tells me that sometimes I can be mouthy.

He knows better.

Mostly, I am guilty of not speaking up.

Last week, my nurse practitioner and I "practiced" what I was going to say to my gynecologist. I had told her that maybe I should see somebody else. That I just knew that if I went back to him that he was going to "prescribe" the same course of treatment that nearly every other gynecologist I had seen in my life was going to suggest and he wasn't going to hear me.

My nurse practitioner "hears" me.

This is about to get a little personal.

She told me that unfortunately, most everyone would feel that they would have to run the same battery of tests he had completed the year before and would want to run again.  But she also told me that I needed to speak up for myself. That I was intelligent and that I knew what I wanted.

And what I wanted mattered. ( I really need to have her make a general doctor's note a can carry around in my purse for this)

You see, when I go to a typical gynecologist visit it is never typical for me. There is always a sense of unfinished business. There is always a sense of loss. Most of the time, I can brush it off and bury my head in a magazine or book.

Only seldom do I go back to the exam room and have a typical visit. There is always an issue to be discussed or a problem to be solved.

And while I have many "specialist" who I have standing appointments is the gynecologist who has always told me things I didn't want to hear.

You are not ovulating.
They are not regulating.

There is no heartbeat.

When it came time for my visit to my gynecologist it was not a pleasant one. I cried ugly tears. I'm fairly certain I scared the man. I'm also pretty certain he's never made a hillbilly mad before. Not to mention the number of unchecked hormones coursing through my body.

But, I also know what I want. This girl, this woman...had to learn to walk again. She faced death full on and cackled...The Muffin says I cackle. I am sure there are those that have traveled across my life and have discounted my tears and my pain, but we all have 'em.

Let me tell you something. You don't know me. You don't even know the half of it.  If I said the half of it, you probably would be offended. I'm mouthy somewhere up there.

As I was listening to that young man speak (I'm fairly certain he's younger than me) I wondered if he had looked fully at my chart.  But also realized that some of those qualities of "hearing" came from time and experience.

Our time together did not end badly. Eventually, he did hear me. He became less defense and actually gave me some really good advice. Though the man didn't offer to find me a baby somewhere and we all know that would have made everything better.

I have never been shy about talking about infertility or my love affair with adoption. Josiah is everything. And he knows it.

I just never figured on still having this unfinished business and sense of betrayal so late in the process. Especially after everything else I've been through. 

Confrontation and painful feelings are just so stinkin' hard to talk about.

 And we are all such ding-dongs. Really! The minute anyone of us wants to vent or cry about something "some" beacon of "light" has to stand up and remind us that we are so "blessed" and have so much to be thankful for. Or relate a story of a relative that has suffered a  tragedy that makes your story pale in comparison.

Word of advice? Just let people talk. Don't try and fix things. And don't start your reply with "well, you think that's bad..." 

Shew. So that was the tale of my time at the gynecologist and the visit he'll never forget.  Though I did eventually get to my favorite little boutique and spent too much on clothes.

There are many kinds of therapy, my friends. And nobody went in debt and died to do it.

I feel that I do need to make a bit of disclaimer here before I finish my little rant. The Muffin and I are not trying to conceive. The Muffin, my cardiologist, and my momma would KILL ME! There are some other things going on. I'm just speaking vaguely to protect the gentle sensibilities of my Uncles, Daddy and any other male relatives who might happen on this post.

You never know.


  1. Oh Rebekah that is so hard. Your words are so true. Not being heard is very hard and the unfinished bussiness of a womb not satisfied can be down right ugly in it's tears and grief and deep seeded loss. I hear you. I feel your heartache and the thing that makes it even harder is the Rainbow that never came and the one you know never will...

    1. You made me cry! Again! You expressed it so beautifully. Thank you, my friend.


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