I knew that eventually my white-coat syndrome would kick in and that my nerves would present themselves. For those of you who missed it, I HATE doctors. If I were empress, they would all be forced to wear either a bone through their nose or big floppy clown shoes. Bloodwork and IV’s absolutely freak me out. Therefore, as you might imagine, being pregnant has been a challenge if for no other reason than I’ve been forced to confront these fears already, irrational though they may be. I’m sure this will only get worse later today (and until the extraction is over and done with) as I go in for my final appointment and get my “orders.” I imagine there are a whole lot of things to be nervous about – things I haven’t even imagined yet.
For the most part, I’ve been making my lists and checking them twice, fixating on things like housework and office minutiae. However, I had my first major bit of angst at 3:30 in the morning the night before last. I woke up to pee (dear god I won’t miss that) and then had the worst time trying to get back to sleep. Despite my best efforts, I found myself imagining Friday, but with that demented creative spin that really only happens in the middle of the night. I went from having “Green Mile”-type scenarios in my head, wherein I shuffle down a long hallway in my hospital gown, butt hanging out and flanked by nurse-Ratcheds, on my way to be strapped to a gurney. This was rapidly replaced (for some reason) by that scene at the end of “Braveheart,” where they show Mel Gibson’s face as he’s supposedly being eviscerated.
Maybe after they pull the little girl out I’ll scream “FREEDOM!!” like Mel did. It would be appropriate. And crazy.