I am not a crazy person. I am a level-headed Taurus who tends to remain calm and focused in emergencies. I’m not moody or irrational. But holy shitballs is this run-up to the first ultrasound turning me into a LUNATIC! This is what went down yesterday:
6 p.m. – Out of nowhere, while finishing up an assignment for work (at my home office), panic that I’m not pregnant anymore and decide to pee on a stick, even though I know that it would be positive regardless of whether Mr. Embryo was dead or not, thanks to the lingering HCG in my system. Stick is, of course, very positive.
6:05 p.m. – Laughing at my silly self, I go to the bathroom, toss out the stick, and go pee. When I wipe, I see a tiny bit of bright red on the toilet paper. World starts crumbling around me. I lie down on the bathroom floor.
6:15 p.m. – Yes, I’ve been lying on the floor for 10 full minutes. Weirdly, I feel the need to pee again. Does this mean I have a bladder infection? Does this mean I’m having a miscarriage? (Obviously needing to go pee isn’t linked to miscarriages, but I was convinced, of course). So I go pee again, and wipe again, and see blood again.
6:18 p.m. – Cue total hysterics. Full-out bawling, heaving sobs, hyperventilation, shaking, the works. Run to the bedroom and continue wailing and crying “WHYYYY?” over and over again like I’m Anne Hathaway in an even more melodramatic version of Les Mis. This lasts for at least 20 minutes, then I go into a zombie-like “dead state”. I’m supposed to get groceries and do laundry, but instead I order a really disgusting spelt-crust pizza (you know what? I’m fucking done with you, spelt) and lie on the couch in my bathrobe all night, making sure to feel EXTRA sorry for myself and my dead baby.
11 p.m. – Decide to get ready for bed. I need to go pee again, and this time I opt for a new technique, very gently and strategically dabbing the toilet paper around my front bum vicinity so as to confirm where the blood is coming from. No blood. I move a little further back. There’s the blood again. I stand up and (sorry, TMI alert) investigate my innards with my finger, and the only stuff that comes out is leftover Endometrin. Suddenly, it occurs to me that my morning poops have been a bit more strained than usual, so could it be coming from much further back?? I grab a hand mirror, pull a Paul Rudd in This is 40 (skip to 1:30), and sure enough, that was the damn source of it.
Guys, I very nearly wept with joy at the sight of my own anal bleeding. THIS IS A PROBLEM. Seriously, I need to get a grip. This is not me. I am so not like this. But clearly, two years of infertility-related anxiety have left me a lot more fragile than I’ve realized.
I have such bad feelings about this ultrasound on March 4, and while distraction is very much welcome and definitely helps, it is clearly not enough. My subconscious is reeling, and I’m not sure what to do.
P.S. If you do a Google Image search for “crazy”, this is what comes up:
Yep. A man in a vagina costume (with soft-focus borders). And the URL link refers to it as a “crazy costume for a crazy party”. No kidding.