And gee, it's just starting. In fact, all this happened before 9AM. First, I got on the bus to get to work and almost immediately got a phone call. The number looked like my husband's (same exchange), and when I had left home moments before, he was asleep, so I picked it up. It was the clinic. They had the results of my pap smear, which are "abnormal" or atypical or something. Of course there's a five-step scale to just how atypical, and they weren't supposed to schedule me for more testing unless I was at least a two. But the nurse didn't volunteer at which step I was (or are all patients supposed to have all diagnostic jargon memorized? I'm a lawyer, and I make sincere efforts not to talk to all my clients as if they were attorneys), and I was going to ask her for details on my cervical swab while sitting three inches from the next passenger...right. Sure.
So then she wanted to schedule a colposcopy, for further analysis. I pointed out I have an appointment (RE) next Friday, and asked whether I could do them back to back. First she said my insurance wouldn't cover that (that doesn't even sound plausible), then I think she said that there's only one opening that day with the RE (right, so schedule the colposcopy afterward...maybe arithmetic is not her strong suit?). Oh, that was after she asked what kind of appointment the other one was. Ma'am, you called me at 8:30 in the morning - three weeks after the pap smear, by the way - and I live in metro DC, where everyone commutes by public transportation. I'm going to talk about my infertility in front of fifty strangers? Are you completely serious?
Her next brilliant suggestion was that I should bump the RE appointment, which I scheduled two months in advance, and do the colposcopy next week - since it's a huge emergency, you know, that they took three weeks to call me about. At this point it was no longer possible to get her to explain their schedule intelligibly over the phone without involving the other passengers in far more of my medical information than they had any interest in on a perfectly innocent Friday morning, so I asked her to call back and do the scheduling later. I'm especially glad I did this, because after about 120 seconds' reflection, I realized that I don't care if I do the colposcopy next year. I am not moving my RE appointment.
Instead, I am going to the RE first. If she can figure out what's wrong with me rapidly, then good; I'll get it treated and get pregnant or not. If she can't, I'm going on depo. I've had enough, and I'm not going to spend what's left of my twenties sick-and-getting-sicker. "Contraceptive mentality" is just black humor in my situation.
Now, this took a while for any patient soul to read, but this entire thought process really did take me about 120 seconds, which I know because at the end of that time period, my black reverie was interrupted by a sturdily-built young woman with terrible skin who said, in an unusually belligerent tone, "I'm pregnant. Somebody get out of the priority seating, please." The please was a nice touch, but the tone and the venomous facial expression made clear that there were six other letters she was really meaning instead. She was very rude. Without even thinking (if I had thought, I would have said, "Pardon me?" forcing her to either rephrase or reiterate her belligerent statement in the same tone), I said, "Oh, certainly," and went to stand at the back of the bus. The other three passengers in priority seating literally did not blink. It was as if she were a mirage only I saw.
That was almost four hours ago, and I am still really angry. This is the IF rage, I know - I'm not actually angry that she's pregnant (I know, you think I am subconsciously. Maybe that adds a fraction. But it's not the real problem). I had been getting better about the blind rage toward anyone who is rude to me, but maybe the call from the clinic shattered my little bit of progress. It would be an exaggeration to say I'd have wanted to see this woman hit by the bus, baby and all, but I would have had to work to cry over it. My seething lasted long enough for me to do research on whether she is legally entitled to have the seat. It turns out that she's not, under either metro's policy or federal law. In other words - and this is metro's express policy - it would be nice for other people to give pregnant women the seat as a courtesy.
Ah, in which case - perhaps she should ask courteously! I printed out my research and put it in my handbag. I hope I see her again. I am waiting. I know this is not good for me, but I'm still really angry.
I want to go home. Instead, I need to call the clinic...