I’m sitting in a freezing lab next to a wall. A lab tech dressed in bright blue scrubs preps my arm for a blood draw, and I look the other way, to face the wall beside me. On it, eight inches from my nose, someone has thumbtacked a cardboard cutout of a meat processing plant. A monochrome logo in fat red ink of a curly-haired bull and the company name blazened around it.
Me: (chuckling) That’s pretty random.
Tech: Random? (smirks) It’s not random at all.
Me: How so? It’s a meat processing plant logo on a piece of cardboard! It’s hilarious. You kill me.
Tech: You know, the owner of the plant was here just the other week.
Me: No kidding?
Tech: She was very pleased with the sign, of course.
Me: (nodding along with the surreal conversation) Then it was worth it, having this sign on the wall.
Tech: Yeah. And then, when she was leaving, she gave me a dozen chicken wings!
Me: (laughing out of my mind) Then it was definitely worth it!
Tech: (laughing) I like you. You come back here anytime!
I watched the monitor as the nurse practitioner glided the sonogram on reconnaissance around my organs. It’s hard not to get technical and revealing with the findings; I keep erasing lines. But I enjoy this kind of detective work, even at my own expense. There was no visible embryo, not yet, only the stage for one. She gently reminded me that it may be too soon to tell, but I’m trusting my gut instinct that there won’t be, this go round.
I disclosed the blood sample more out of courtesy than closure. What gave me those symptoms was most likely a ruptured uterine cyst, which, apparently, is a common ailment in horses. Yes, try googling “uterine cysts.” I got graphic rat dissections and a litany of equine medlines on the subject, but nary a word on uterine cysts documented in the human species. But I swear, the nurse told me they were a common ailment in women!
This I know now: our hearts and home have room for another child, even if our cars don’t accomodate a third carseat.
+++
It’s gorgeous right now. Everything has a crisp surface, the horizon unfolds in blue and purple hills; you can see the outlines of trees several miles away. I forget my camera when a peach-colored sheet of cloud covers the skybowl, reflecting the setting sun. As if the earth has turned off all the lights, the sky beckons the eye upwards. All I notice on the ride home is the linear network of telephone poles and electrical wires, the limestone cliffs as they rove by. I love the sunsets in Texas.
You write so well I forget sometimes how hard this must be. My thoughts are with you and your family. And amen on the Texas sunsets!!
Ba-zaar. Where did you go to get your blood work, College Station? Sorry about this round — but doesn’t sound like it will be long now before your in for it, by choice!
It has been pretty lately for sure — but for me, nothing beats the Kansas sunsets. I read once that a National Geographic photographer who had been around the world, was once asked where the best skies were, and he said Kansas and Kenya.
Oh Steph, I’m so sorry – unfortunately I have an intimate relationship with that type of rollercoaster disappointment. Sounds like it might be time to brush off that basal thermometer though. You can always find room for one more. Hugs.
I don’t usually say much, but wanted to let you know there are people out here sending good vibes your way. Hang in there.
Steph, you handled this with a beautiful grace…I’m sorry, but also happy for you in the knowledge that you know your heart is ready to enlarge! C
I know you posted this a while back, but I am just reading it now. I agree, you did handle it as graciously as one can in this situation.
If you google “hydatiform mole” (I find it a repugnant term, but it is the medical one) you’ll get a lot more information. You probably know that already by now, but just in case you didn’t.