My cervix and I had my yearly this morning. I kinda hate it because I have an abnormally deep cervix and so they have to use the world’s largest speculum and push really hard and they call in interns to show them my really deep cervix so that they can marvel at how deep I am. I lie there twiddling my thumbs, while 17 strangers marvel at my vagina, praying that my landscaping job was up to par, as it is now on display. It’s awesome. Who wouldn’t be ecstatic to do that?
I entered the waiting room that was dripping with fertility. Couples were cooing and making googly eyes at one another and holding that damn gift bag they give you that says, “Congratulations, You are pregnant!” right before the big balloon drop in the OBs office. The one I received last March. There were a handful of postpartum moms with their squishy newborns, looking blissfully exhausted and equal parts miserable. That’s the category I should have fallen into. Then there was an abundance of pregnant ladies who were miserably looking on past their overdue to give birth bellies. The looked as uncomfortable as I felt standing there. This is the first time I’ve been back there since it happened.
I had mentally prepared for this visit. I had a plan. Bathe, landscape, apply feminine deodorant spray (not kids Barbie glitter spray), have your deep cervix ooh’d and ahh’d at, ask for a prescription for something to calm my nerves on my first plane ride ever, thank her for warming her hands and get the hell outta dodge. But that’s not what happened.
No, first there was the waiting room bursting at the seams with fertility that felt like a small punch in the gut to remind me that there must be a special room for the elderly and those poor post menopausal ladies. I bet its quiet in there. I want to wait in there next time.
“BUT I’M HERE TO GET MY YEARLY, to let you ooh and ahhh at my deep cervix, to do my disappearing speculum trick”, my heart was pleading for someone to take pity on me. I’ve already had to reschedule once. So, someone needs to find me a person to look at my hoohaa! I don’t care if it’s the fucking janitor.
I need a PA/ NP/ whatever just get me somebody, anybody, STAT! If I leave this joint, I know it will be at least 2 weeks before I can come back because there’s no way that I’m coming in looking like I’ve got 5 o’clock shadow on my pubic area and I won’t come back near the 1st.
I request a Nurse practitioner. After all, it’s just a pap. I’ve had enough of them done that I could probably do it myself. Give me the speculum and the necessary nipple cleaning, long-stemmed Q-tip doohickey and some alone time and I can probably do it myself.
Then the nurse walks in and asks, “So still taking your Prenatals?”
Me, “No. I miscarried in May.”
Bumble, fumble, choke on her foot, “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have kept reading. I’ll get the Nurse practitioner.” And with that she quietly ran out of the room, tail between her legs and head down, avoiding eye contact.
In came the nurse practitioner, and the first words out of her mouth were, “ So, how are you doing?”
Me, “Uhm, fine, I guess.”
Her, “Ohhhh, it’ll be okay. “ Clearly she is oozing pity from her nurse’s faux pas.
When she was done probing me and oohing and ahhing over my exquisitely deep cervix, she asked if there was anything else I needed to talk about. I’m assuming she was expecting a breakdown, right here in the room next door to where I was told that my baby had no heartbeat. I wasn’t in the mood for breakdowns. I was cold and my cervix was bitter about the coldness of the speculum.
“Yes, I’m taking my first flight in a couple weeks and I’d like something to keep me from having to be duck taped to my seat during the flight by the air marshals. Can you prescribe something?” I expected a couple Valium for the ride.
“Oh, yes, here is a prescription for Xanax and I gave you a couple refills.”
She pulled it from her pocket like a magician pulling out a damn narcotic bunny and handed it to me and then she patted my hand. She had already planned to give me the Xanax. Apparently, she thought I might need it to replace my prenatals. Either way, I’m pretty stoked, now I’m one of the cool kids. Like my mama says, “ I got me some nerve pills.”