Out of the Frying Pan

So... I finally got transplanted to my new store. I'm not sure yet, but I think I might hate it.

I was so, so excited. But the department head is... bitchy unpleasant difficult to work with. I'm transferring into a position that, aside from the managing part, is exactly what I've been doing for the last three (almost four) years. So she schedules herself to shadow me two days in a row. One day, I can see. There were some minor differences in the way they do things compared to what I'm used to. And I don't know how where everything is, and they keep different paperwork than I used to.

Two days is overkill, I think.

I'm going to try to give it a couple of weeks before I decide if I'm miserable or not, though, because I think that once I'm back into a routine, and I know where everything is, and I can just come in, do my job, and then leave, it won't be so bad. I hope. I really, really really hope. Because otherwise I gave up my stressful, full-time, higher-paying job for an equally stressful part-time, lower-paying, further-from-home job. This isn't good, folks. I am terrified.


Oh, and here's the fun part. Before things started to get uncomfortable, she (boss lady. I'm sure a nickname will come up soon) asked me if I have children. And, because I hadn't worked up the guts to tell her yet, I went ahead and let her know that we're doing fertility treatments, so I might request off for doctor's appointments or trade shifts if I need to, but I'd do my best to give her as much notice as possible, and I won't leave her hanging. And then, the really awkward moment where I imagined freaking out on someone.

She says: "I want to wish you well, and I do, because obviously this is something you want. But once you get pregnant they're going to put you on bed rest for at least your first trimester, and then I don't have anyone to cover your position." (it gets better)

So I tell her there is no reason for me to be on bed rest unless I end up being at risk of miscarriage. That I'm seeing specialists who have covered their bases, and I've already asked these questions.

So she says: "But they don't know how you'll carry a pregnancy. There could be something in your uterus that will cause you to have a miscarriage. I've had a tubal pregnancy before and I know they made me be on bed rest the next time I got pregnant so I wouldn't have another tubal."

And then I have to let her know they've seen my uterus. It's pretty normal, for a uterus. And that for the most part, there is nothing you can do to prevent a miscarriage in the first trimester. And there isn't much you can do to cause one, either. I left out the part where I learned all of this while actually losing my baby.


While I know that what I'm doing is important to me, I hate that I can't just have a normal body. Why do I have to have a conversation about who's seen my uterus? Or be told that working while pregnant will totally kill my phantom baby? Oh, because when you request a Sunday off for a doctor's appointment, no one will believe you. Doctors aren't in their offices on Sundays. Except doctors who need to see what my ovaries are up to...

argh.

I didn't even tell her that I'll be doing an IUI at some point next week, and will probably have to trade shifts with someone, depending on when my ovaries actually cooperate. I think that would have given her a stroke.


In other news... Oh, wait. That's it, really. Just waiting, and working out, and waiting. Date with the dildocam on Sunday, seeing the Doctor on Wednesday to 'discuss our next steps,' and really, really hoping the IUI is Wednesday, too, so I don't have to take an extra day off.