I just called my HMO back. Twice. Apparently, they have no other appointments on days that work for me until the 31st(!!!). Apparently, they originally had me in for a pap smear. Apparently, the ultrasound has to be scheduled separately and in-office after all – it’s not just something I can ask for over the phone. It’s all very upsetting.
The first time I called, the woman that answered was rude and horrible and kept cutting me off while I was talking. I hung up and cried. Then I called back, and the next woman I spoke to was nice enough to add “remove IUD” to the notes on the appointment (which had since been changed from “pap smear” to “discuss birth control options”), and said that the nurse practitioner would take good care of me and refer me to whomever she thought I needed to see, meaning a real doctor or a specialist. Then, even though I felt better about the situation, I cried some more, further proof that these hormones are making me crazy, and this thing needs to come out, like, now. Not on the thirty-fucking-first. So I’m sticking with the NP appointment on Monday.
I did consider, when the automated message reminded me to call 911 in case of emergency, calling 911. But then I reminded myself that whereas I might think of crazy-making hormones as an emergency situation, the 911 dispatchers probably would not.
I also considered calling Planned Parenthood, in tears, and asking whether they could take the thing out for me today. But when I saw that they too operate on one general phone number, and that I wouldn’t be able to just call the office closest to me and pull on the receptionist’s heartstrings, I figured it wasn’t worth it. Might as well wait two more days so I can at least get the referral that I need.
I think what I’m most upset about is that I still have to go to (read: find) the office by the hospital. It was all working out so nicely in my head before I called: I could go to the office by my parents’ house, where the doctors would undoubtedly be better because it’s a richer neighborhood, then I would go have dinner with my family that night, and on the nights of every future/follow-up appointment.
This isn’t what I wanted to write about today, on the four-year anniversary of that one day I had to get legally married so my ex could legally stay in the country. (Our big fancy church wedding took place six months later.) I wanted to write something about love, or marriage – something to pay respect/tribute to the date and my experiences, without actually writing about the event, because I don’t really have anything to say about it. (“It was in Santa Barbara… There were blue roses…”)
Instead, I’ve spent the bulk of today either in pain – damn hormonal stomach issues, hysterical, or exhausted from the combination of the former two. And all I can think about is getting this thing out of my body, quickly, easily, now.
I feel as desperate and crazy as Lady Macbeth (“Out, damned IUD! out, I say!”), only maybe a little less guilty. So that’s a plus.
And now, I am hereby promising myself not to write about this again until after Monday’s appointment.