Dr. Whitaker. That’s the name of my OB-GYN. I saw her the other day at Wal-Mart. I had a very strange and strong reaction to it. I don’t know why. I suppose it was in part because she had been on my mind lately; I need to schedule my annual as well as my inaugural mammogram – a bullet I’ve thus far dodged due to pregnancy and nursing. I guess seeing her seemed surreal there in the Wally-world pharmacy department amongst the lotions and Q-tips. She was in her typical scrubs talking on her phone. I half wanted to run up and hug her. Instead, I sort of slunk away. It was rather like seeing Jon Hamm on the street -looking dashing- while you’re without makeup in stained sweats – only without the element of sexiness to it. (I’ve finally been watching Mad Men. Can you tell?)
It’s crazy. I know.
I came to Dr. W when I was in a really bad place. I called her office literally days after my miscarriage, devastated, hormonal, and seething at the way the staff of my previous OB’s office had treated me. I mean, gosh! How dare I miscarry on a holiday weekend? Long story short, I was knocked up again by the time I had my first appointment not quite 2.5 months later. She was awesome. I was neurotic – more so than usual- and hormonal, terrified something would go wrong again.
The blogs are there if you want to read them. Dr. W got me through 2 pregnancies and 2 c-sections, including that first agonizing one where I had to make the choice to go that route. She countered my neuroses with calmness and humor. After both deliveries, I always felt a bit sad at the thought of not seeing her weekly anymore. Doctors to me had always been quacks. Not Dr. W.
So I felt like a ninny at Wal-Mart. I was reminded of something that I try not to think about: I’m never having another baby. And dammit- that makes me so very sad. As crazy as it sounds at 42 years old, having barely survived the past 5 years with my sanity and family intact (and some days I wonder about that), if age and money weren’t an obstacle – oh yeah, and if I hadn’t asked to tie my tubes- I’d totally be down with another baby. Or two.
So yes. I admit it. Some days, I regret shutting down the factory. I’ve even thought once or twice when I thought I might be late that maybe I was one of those freaks whose body scoffed at tubal ligation and wouldn’t that be wonderful.
I thought about all that stuff again while putting mayo and mustard in my cart for Halloween-ey deviled eggs for my kids’ school parties. And I’m still not sure why I hid from my doctor. She’s sort of my hero in a strange way, I suppose. The reality is that as shitty as it is, I’m closer by far to menopause than any further excursions into motherhood, even if that were non-surgically possible at this point. And THAT is a kick in the ass. Most of the time, I still feel like a clueless kid floundering about in the world. I hope Dr. W, my hero, is ready to help me with that.