Raw Part 2

Warning: If you are currently trying to get pregnant and incredibly annoyed by those who are newly pregnant and seem to be having a hard time with it, you might want to stay away from my blog for a while. Believe me; I’ve been there. I understand.

I saw a urologist yesterday to find out what the deal is with some recent blood in the urine and frequent UTIs. I had to wait for more than an hour before the doctor saw me, which already had me annoyed. But my conversation with the doctor’s nurse succeeded in ruining what had been a fairly good day.

The nurse was taking my vitals and telling me about some tests they were going to run when I decided I should probably tell her I was pregnant. After all, that might affect my treatment plan, mightn’t it? She gave me a big smile and congratulations. Hastily, I told her the three-sentence version of my history, ending with, “So I’m not quite ready for congratulations yet.”

She could have smiled sympathetically and continued updating my chart. Instead, this kind-hearted nurse (and I’m not being sarcastic—she really was kind-hearted; just a bit clueless as to when to give it a rest) continued to feed me platitudes like there was no tomorrow. She told me I need to have a positive attitude about this pregnancy. She told me about her son and daughter-in-law, who had had a miscarriage and now had two wonderful little children (who were just the lights of her life). She told me she was “sure” this pregnancy would result in a healthy baby.

I know she was just trying to comfort me. But really—how in the world does she “know” what lies in store for me? My tight-lipped smile should have been a clue to her that she should just continue with her job and stop with the pregnancy and loss talk, but she kept on adding little statements, like “I bet it was really hard on your husband.”

I know these last two posts have made it sound like I’m worried shitless about this pregnancy. I’m actually rather OK; I’m simply living my quiet little life right now and trying not to think too much about the future. I am not, however, in any position to be gushing about my knocked-up state. I feel a bit like Miranda in “Sex and the City,” who finds she has to “fake” a wide smile whenever other people get excited about finding out she’s having a boy.

Not that we’ve told many people. No, the people for whom I have had to “fake it” are all medical professionals (and a hairstylist—I had to explain why I’m going to be skipping out on highlights for the next eight months). The only IRL person we’ve told is my friend J, who’s starting IVF in a couple of months. I felt it would be cruel to keep her out of the loop, since I know how crappy it can be to be surprised by a pregnancy when you’re going through IF.

My experience with the urology nurse has confirmed my suspicion that we should wait quite a while before telling even our families. I want to wait until I can smile, rather than grimace, about this pregnancy.