Brevity Is the Soul of Whit(aker)

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.

Dr. W and Felix, several seconds old.  My hero and the final occupant of my uterus together....

Dr. W and Felix, several seconds old. My hero and the final occupant of my uterus together….

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.

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
This entry was posted in Parenting, pregnancy and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Brevity Is the Soul of Whit(aker)

  1. Anxious Mom says:

    Accepting that the last baby was truly the last is so difficult. My husband is 37 and I’m 31, and he says that he’s too old to have another and plans to get vasectomy next year. Probably not a good idea to have another but it still sucks majorly.

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