Who Would Have Thought Going to the Doctor Would Make Me Cry?
2 weeks ago I went to my PCP for my annual exam. No biggie. I’m in good health. Yeah, I’m 41 so the exam is a wee bit more invasive than it used to be, but I’m good.
Until...I told my doc about the end of our marriage. Whoa! It’s been 15 years and boy have times changed. She immediately went into her spiel about safe sex, including that I needed to get tested for all the STD’s so that I can give my next partner a written report card. Again, whoa! It’s a whole new world out there.
I also talked to the doc about birth control Now wait! Don’t judge. For now, I am most concerned about the hormonal consequences of grief on top of PMS. Trust me; it sucks! But, I also see my doctor once a year. And, yes, I want to be ready before another 12 months passes.
She asked me if I was still thinking about having a baby. In short, yes, I want the option to be on the table. The long answer is another post for another day.
Grief, PMS, older age, fertility...my PCP decided I really needed to see a specialist.
So this week I saw a specialist.
He talked to me about my age (42 in 6 weeks) and pregnancy. He has 48 year old new moms all the time. Not to worry.
He talked to me about birth control. IUD seems to be the best—and yes, it helps with PMS.
He talked to me about how many distraught middle-aged women come in post divorce because a new man came along and took advantage of them. It was his way of trying to protect my heart.
And that was when I lost it. I looked at this kind doctor and shook my head as tears streamed down my cheeks. I NEVER thought I would be sitting in a doctor’s office talking about birth control. My ex had a vasectomy. I thought he and I were in it for the rest of our lives.
The doc handed me tissues and said his staff would call my insurance company about coverage for an IUD. I am scheduled to go in next week. I am scared.
I generally like to end my posts on a positive note, but I also want to be real. I don’t want to sugar coat it. I want other people who are hurting to know that it’s normal. I hurt too. It’s called grief.