We were on our way to Chicago for a family reunion and I was concerned about how both of us would manage since finding out this news. We saw his brother and his wife, pregnant for the fifth time We saw his cousin’s daughter with her 13 month old, she’s barely 20. We saw his brother’s grandchildren. Grandchildren! And a whole assortment of cousins of all ages. He picked them all up, he hugged them, threw them up in the air, and generally was the same “Uncle John” that they all knew.
I could tell that he was bothered. He gets anxious, starts fussing at me more, complains that I’m not quick enough to answer his questions, becomes a bit rough with my feelings when he normally is so gentle. I know he was anxious about the upcoming doctor visits and tests so I try to refrain from escalating the issue. I’m quiet when he barks because I know he’s looking for a way to lash out. It hurts him to think that he won’t be able to contribute to this dynamic brood. Every argument he tried to start was just fear. Fear that wouldn’t be able to see if his son would have to wear “husky” jeans or would be a football star like he and his brothers. Fear that he wouldn’t have a daughter who asked questions continuously, or had long and slender fingers with nail beds like her mother.
So we did it. We went to the various doctors, got poked and prodded, and more pokes and prods. One doctor’s office looked like it hadn’t been updated since 1962. It was filled with old folks that walked leaning on canes, coughed incessently and nodded off to sleep while they waited. The doctor gave them glasses to pee in – real glasses – not plastic ones. We were conspicuous. I hated being there.
The doctor called us in. I asked him if he dealt with reproductive issues. He arrogantly stated he’s been doing this for 30 years so he’s seen it all. I wanted to punch him in his smug face. He probably had three kids, two dogs and six grandkids. He told us we needed to go for tests but that his office didn’t do the tests. We would need to set them up ourselves. *sigh* When we came back to review the results with him, the answers were the same. Not positive. And then he told us we needed to go back to a reproductive endocrinologist.
Square One – We’re Back