I know I’m not the only one who smiles every time I watch the Wizard of Oz and the Wicked Witch of the West lets out her final farewell shriek: “I’m MELTING…MELLLLLLTING!!” Maybe it’s the way she says it, maybe it’s the gleeful enjoyment we get from watching evil die,or maybe, just maybe, it’s because we’ve seen the movie enough times to know that the land of Oz is a much calmer utopia for the Lollipop Guild to live post-Wicked-Witch.
Isn’t that the way it goes? Sometimes it just takes one evil-killing meltdown to help open your eyes and realize life is joyful and Oz-like again (minus the munchkins, of course).
This morning I had an appointment with my OB. Being the awesome man that he is, Nate came with me as he has every time. And I, as I have every time, was itching to get in, get out, and get to work. I know what I do at my job doesn’t make the world spin, it doesn’t keep trouble off the streets, and it certainly doesn’t aid in saving lives. But to me, it still needs to be done with pride, care and time. And, selfish as it may sound, going to the doctors office during work hours cuts into that time and makes me anxious. I know what you’re thinking – Me? Anxious? Noooooo….
We went through the motions of the appointment, heard the (incredible) solid heartbeat at 140 beats/minute, and were gently reminded of my necessary lab tests…again. I am a well-controlled Type 1 Diabetic, but that still sticks me in the “high risk” bucket with anorexics, sextuplet-carriers, and Cloris Leachman. So I’m high risk. What does that even mean?
Well, I’ll tell you what it means. I left my OB room and happily strolled to the front desk to make any upcoming appointments. Expecting to schedule three or four rapid-fire doctor visits and be gone, my jaw dropped when the sweet girl with glasses behind the desk told me that after my May 4 appointment, I would need to come in at LEAST twice a week to get my NSTs, BBCs, OBs, NFLs, ABCs…whatever acronyms they were! Twice a week?? As in two times per week?? And, that didn’t even include my diabetes check-ups! As if that weren’t enough, she told me that we needed to head up to the 4th floor to have our scheduled Ultrasound. Scheduled? Who’s schedule?? It definitely wasn’t on MY radar. Ultrasounds are supposed to be the happy appointment that mothers (and fathers) look forward to…seeing their little bugger somersaulting around like a gymnast, healthy and strong. But, today, after scheduling 45 appointments between now and June, I immediately felt my heart rate pick up. My face got red, my hormone levels shot through the roof, and then, there they were…..tears. Those sad, stupid, aggravating tears that only peeked their wet little heads once a month before, and now seem to drop in on a daily basis. Since we were alone at the desk, and I couldn’t very well yell at the girl with glasses, I turned to Nate. Poor, poor Nate. He knew what was coming. I could tell by his face. If he could’ve jumped behind the desk, hired a divorce lawyer, and impregnated the girl with glasses to get out of this situation, he would have. At least SHE seemed level-headed. Poor guy.
Out it came – my meltdown – my Wicked Witch of the West moment. From the walk to the elevator, up the elevator, into radiology, in the waiting area, all the way to the room in the back, Nate got his earful. “Why do I have to do all the work?” “I just want some help!” “This is too much for one person.” “I miss my life!” and my personal favorite: “I even went to the DENTIST because my pregnancy book said I should, and you can’t even schedule a birthing class!?” Yikes. What does that even mean? I couldn’t control it. I knew I didn’t mean a word coming out of my mouth, but it was still coming out. I plead the fifth. No, I plead insanity. NO, I plead pregnant.
The silent walk back to the Ultrasound room was awkward and guilt-ridden. I plopped in the chair, pulled my shirt up and pants down, and awaited the cold gel. We couldn’t believe what we saw. Our little 26-week-old fetus-boy was yawning and stretching and showing off his cross-country skills to his proud daddy. What a ham! And, oh, so photogenic. During the course of the 20-minute Ultrasound, it occurred to me that my work will be there waiting for me when I get there, the stores I need to go to on my errand-running list aren’t closing down tomorrow, and I have more important things to focus on right now. 1) My husband and 2) OUR baby. I can still have ambition and anxiety to help get everything done properly, but that might have to become second-fiddle to a family. MY family. My patient, growing, wonderful, cross-country-running family. By the end of the Ultrasound, I was holding Nate’s hand.
I melted. In a bad way…melllllllllted! After apologizing profusely to my husband for being a hormonally unstable wife, he simply said, “It’s ok…totally natural to feel like that.”
Maybe that’s why the land of Oz had a Good Witch too. She was the light in the moments of darkness, patiently awaiting the death of all evil. All I know after today is: those two witches of Oz could’ve been married and survived it all…balance is everything.