Isn’t it weird how a room can look completely different to you in a moment of panic? The walls somehow look less vibrant; the sign on the stall door seems less grabbing, and almost mocking in its presence. The sounds you have heard several times in your life now sound like echoes of the past, reminding you that there is a possibility that what you knew, mightn’t be what you will know.
Styrofoam – I have never been particularly fond of it. The sound, the texture, the feel of it in my mouth… But now, at I look at it, I realize how scary it truly is.
‘Pee in this cup’, she said to me. Typically the act of urinating is something I find to be an easy task, being that I somehow find a way to do it every hour, on the hour. This time was different. The sign in front of me urged me to clean up the streets and help the environment. I saw some kind of irony here. The Styrofoam, the sign. I sit reading a sign urging me to better the eco-system, as I force myself to pee in one of the most poorly decomposing substances known to man.
Once I make my… deposit… I walk into the other room, hand her the cup and sit down on the relatively comfortable stool. ‘Some of your hormones indicate pregnancy’, she continued.
Ten minutes pass. Negative. Thank goodness.
Ten minutes pass. Negative…. What now?
Typically speaking, all of my past follow-ups have showcased normal findings. Nothing specifically alarming. After which, I would head home feeling I had wasted my time. Yesterday, I had wished my day had felt like wasted time.
While I was thrilled to discovered I was not barren, the uncertainties which remained did cause further discomfort.
If these irregularities are not a result of a baby, then what exactly is my problem?
To be honest, as much as the concept of conception freaked me out, it was almost a relief to think that maybe some questions were receiving their answers.
Looking at the strip, seeing the bright red come into focus, much alike the lens of a camera. Slowly, but surely. ‘What will this mean? If… I am not’. From here I was informed that I would need to be sent to specialist, Dr. Craig, to learn further. While the idea of further pursuit is comforting, the wait and unknown present is less than desirable.
Quite contrary to what I have grown used to, the session both began and ended at the times which I had been told it would. Most usually I find myself beginning and ending my appointment at least 20 minutes later than expected. I, a complete cloud of shock, meandered to the elevator.
The door closed.
But just like that, another one opened.
Typically speaking the only people who call me are my mother, my boyfriend and my friend Elizabeth, so when an unknown number was attached to my phone vibrating, I was not sure who it could possibly be.
My aunt, it had turned out.
I immediately handed my phone to my mother, being that my number was more a pathway to her. I watched my mother take then phone; her face was stern, and she remained quiet. After a short five minute discussion, she hung up the phone and walked into the other room, looking for another contact number.
For my other Aunt, in Iowa.
I didn’t need to be told what had happened. I knew; it was my Grandfather. Before I knew it, my mother and I were en route to the emergency to see him. ‘Room seven’ is all my mother kept saying, reminding herself over and over of where we were to go.
Isn’t is weird how someone can look so different in a moment of pain? Some one you’ve seen so many times: get-together’s, Christmas eve… you name it. You look at them so full of warmth and happiness. Then, one day, you see them; not full of warmth and happiness, but plagued with pain.
I have never quite known how to handle situations like these. I feel like the questions related to ‘are you okay’ are almost mocking, so I refuse to utter them. Instead, I often remain quiet, but with every inch of my being trying desperately to be comforting. Even the notion of where to stand becomes confusing to me. So, I opt for sitting in the corner and keeping to myself as best as possible.
It was not long after arriving that my grandfather was told he could go home for the night. Heading home all I could think about was how much was packed into one day for me, and for my family. In times of great pain, or fear, it’s beautiful how much a family comes together. Since yesterday afternoon I’ve seen my family members more than I had in the months prior to yesterday. The support and connection has beautifully apparent.
Though, even though you hope you can sleep away the day, when you wake up, you realize… today is just yesterday’s tomorrow.
To my family, to whom I love dearly.