I went for my bloodwork this morning. I had to go to an independent lab outside the clinic for OHIP related reasons that still aren't particularly clear to me. I finally decided it wasn't worth trying to find a third person at the clinic to explain this to me in layman's (or crazy-bereaved-stressed-out-hormonal-fragile-tempermental-lady's) terms, so I found an independent lab and headed there this morning.
The drive was quick, there was plenty of parking, the wait was short, the phlebotomist was experienced and I barely felt a thing. Even though she sucked 9 vials out of me.
But then she opened her mouth.
I was happily looking at the crappy landscape photographs someone tore out of a real estate calendar and slapped up on the blood-letting room wall (yeah, that'll make me forget that you have a needle in my arm) when she started to pry.
"So, why are you having all these blood tests? Do they think you have lupus?"
Yeah, sure, go ahead and ask. It seems perfectly reasonable to try to worm information out of a quiet, sad-looking girl staring at the wall minding her own business.
You'd think after all this time I'd be good at dodging, but I'm tired these days. It's been a trying few weeks. My guard was down. So despite the fact that "____ REGIONAL FERTILITY CENTRE" was clearly marked on my lab requisition, I mumbled something about having some fertility issues.
And that, apparently, was her opening.
Listen up all you uterinely challenged ladies, all you mothers of dead babies - my phlebotomist has the answer you've been searching for:
You should go to Vegas.
Imagine that. After all this time, after all the perfectly timed sex, the dildocam monitoring, the Clomid, the HCG shots, the surgery, the miscarriages, the child buried a half hour from our house - after all that, turns out all we really needed to do was buy a ticket to Vegas.
It's what her daughter did. After 10 years of trying they gave up, went to Vegas last Christmas and had a baby boy on Friday. So clearly it works.
I quietly explained that our situation was a little more complicated. I mentioned Thomas and the Tigers and the complications during the D&C and watched as she avoided eye contact and stopped talking altogether.
And then I let her off the hook, asked about her new grandson and quietly left the office.
This is why I'm so tired. It just. Never. Ends.