DISSAPOINTMENT

As I sat in the waiting room the man opposite me played incessantly withhis worry beads. Each click corresponding with a second passing and for a time I concentrated on his rhythmical movements in the hope they would putmy mind at ease.

“Monday is the Queen’s Birthday,” a young man with Autism sat next to his weary mother and spoke with the characteristic stilted tone. “I don’t care,” she hissed, taking her anguish out on him. “I know, I know,” he said defensively. “I was just saying that Monday is the Queen’s Birthday.”The woman sighed heavily. “We’ve been waiting here two hours and I’m tired. I don’t care about Monday.” The young man went quiet.

I didn’t want to think about why I was there. I didn’t want to think about the blood tests and the urine samples I’d taken. I didn’t want to think about appendicitis, pregnancy, bowel obstruction or ovarian cists. I didn’t want to consider that I was either going to have a child or never beable to have one. I wasn’t ready to face either situation.

“No,” a young mother scolded her child for poking me in the leg. I smiled at the child and tried to conceal my disgust at the child’s weeping eyes and snot-smeared face.

A large islander woman pushed her way into the crowded waiting room withher three boisterous children in tow. She passed over her card and ignoredthe children’s demands for fizzy drink and lollies. She took a seat as thechildren played a loud game of eye spy. “I spy something beginning withB.” the smallest child stutters. “Box.” His sister replies. “Belly” hisother sister, suggest. “No it’s a baby.” The youngest offers ruining thewhole game before its time.

“Boswell.” The doctor called after a painful one-hour and seventeen minutes wait.

I followed behind his sizable frame and into the small office. We chatted for a while and he asked how I was and I laughed at the stupidity of the question but then we moved on.

“So you’re not pregnant,” he said quickly and I was instantaneously relieved and disappointed. “You’ve got a bladder infection and it’s causing your abdomen to swell and cramp causing nausea. As for your periods stopping well I can only assume it’s because you’re sick. And as for your breasts swelling well – you’re going through a late PMS.”

I nodded but I wasn’t really listening any more.

I wasn’t pregnant. This wasn’t the pregnancy experience. Considering how much pain I’d been in I was incredibly grateful.

As I left his office with the script for antibiotics in hand I began to cry big fat tears of relief and disappointment.

That night we curled up in bed I asked if Tom was disappointed.

“Yes and no,” he responded.

“What do you mean ‘yes and no’?”

“I have to say yes and no because if I admit that it’s only yes then I’ll start thinking about it and wondering what I’ve done wrong. I’d have to start thinking about the possibility we will never have kids and then I’ll just get too depressed. So I’m saying yes and no so that it doesn’t seem that bad.” He paused. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense."

IN THE BLOOD

If it’s not one thing it’s another. For the past two weeks I have been fighting with a physical mystery. I have not been myself at all.

For the past two weeks I have been doubled up in pain. I have been agitated and emotional. And I’ve visited my doctor in a search for answers.

I've been poked and prodded and had samples taken of all possible bodily fluids and today it finally came to it's conclusion. The final blood test came back from the lab.

My doctor summarized the past two weeks.

“You’re abdomen is very sensitive."

“Yes.”

“You’re breasts have swollen?”

“Yes.”

“You’re periods are a week late.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re nauseous or starving?”

“Yes.”

“Do I have to tell you?”

“Yes.”

WORKING AGAINST ME

“Does this hurt?” The doctor pushed two fingers into my abdomen up to her second knuckle.

My eyes watered and I pulled my knees up against the pain. I wanted to scream and kick out at her. Instead I grunted in the most undignified manner and pushed my back harder against the vinyl bench wishing I could dissolve into it.

“So that’s a yes?” She moved her hands into four different locations, repeating the process at each point. I repeated my reaction in a bid to move away from the assault.

The doctor then put a freezing cold stethoscope against my abdomen and held it there for a time before standing back. “Well your bowels sound fine.”

I held back on the sarcasm – my natural defence mechanism – and twisted into a sitting position. The pain in my abdomen began two weeks ago and on Friday I finally went to the doctors because it had become unbearable.

Not pain so much as discomfort. I couldn’t sit at work. I couldn’t sleep. I could only eat very little otherwise I was painfully bloated. It felt as though the muscles were stretching beyond their limits and that sooner or later the pressure would blow the contents of my abdomen onto the floor.

I needed relief.

“Well, it could be anything. You could be pregnant, have appendicitis or have a bowel obstruction. It could be wind. Your symptoms are common for a lot of things.”

I buttoned up my pants and took the seat opposite her.

“So what can I do?” Please prescribe drugs. Please prescribe drugs. Make it go away. My brain rattled on.

“Nothing. If you have appendicitis then we’ll have to wait and see. Here’s a letter which will see you admitted to hospital if the pain becomes acute.” She passed the plain envelope to me and it did little to ease my mind.

“What can I do in the meantime to treat the discomfort? It’s driving me crazy. ”

My doctor smiled. “You should relax. Go home. Have a hot shower and sleep. Try not to think about it. I can’t prescribe anything more because we don’t know what it is.”

Over the weekend the discomfort did ease a little. But the concern didn’t.

Life is so fragile. Whether it’s a vein in my head popping or a useless appendage in my abdomen exploding we all walk a fine line between life and death.

Our bodies are poorly-designed machines and I can’t help but wonder why all of a sudden mine is working against me.

“Maybe it’s not your appendix. Maybe you’re pregnant,” Tom purred in the darkness.

It’s one of the many options and I don’t know whether I should be fearing for my life or elated at the prospect of becoming a mother.

All I know is that I’m waiting to see what will happen next.