Profanity makes talking fun

Bed rest is done and it’s back to work. Maybe work will offer a bit of a distraction from this long wait until next Wednesday’s pregnancy test. It’s highly doubtful but I willing to grasp onto any prospect at this point. However, today didn’t go quite as I’d planned…imagine that.

I have one blood test left before next week’s pregnancy test. They need to test my progesterone level to make sure that I’m making my uterus the most inviting place possible for little squirts. We figured it was unnecessary for me to drive to Nashville just for a blood test, especially since I work at damn medical facility with a fully functioning lab. So I decided to have it done at work. After giving the lab the orders, I was waiting in the booth for the phlebotomist and, being nosy, inspected the orders. I noticed that it didn’t say that the results were needed STAT…which is typical for these tests so I can know quickly whether to adjust the dosage or not. I pointed this error out to the girl and (long story only slightly shortened) it turns out that our lab does not process progesterone tests in-house and sends them out….hence not coming back STAT. I melted down. WHAT? At this point, my natural sailor-like verbal skills kicked in and I’m pretty sure that I dropped several “shits”, a couple of “damns” and used the term “shitload”. I wasn’t angry at the lab….I was the one at fault for not checking on this and I was pissed at myself. I marched back to my office with the realization that I was going to have to hightail it to Nashville and PRAY that I get there in time for them to get the blood work processed today.

I immediately call Brandon to tell him what happened and got his voice mail. So I texted him and drove out of town like a bat out of hell. With every passing minute I get more pissed that Brandon has yet to call me back…so I texted again. I realize that me driving to Nashville was not necessarily a 911 call (yet) but what if it had been an emergency…like me stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire (wait, that comes later)? I should be able to reach my husband for goodness sake! I’d reached crisis intervention level at this point. So I called him, yet again….and he finally answered. Poor guy had to endure my wrath and he took it like a trooper…thankfully not a state trooper or he would have had me incarcerated immediately.

Thankfully I calmed down after unleashing on him and returned back to DEFCON 5 and the All Clear was called. But then my mind drifted back to the scene in the lab at work. What did I say to them? Was I rude? Did I say anything out of line? OMG, did I swear? Please tell me I didn’t drop an F bomb.

Side Note: I work in Human Resources and we have to be the most politically correct, straight-laced people in the building. It’s completely a façade for me at work because when I’m off the clock, I don’t really like people and spew more profanities than a rap song. But on the clock, I’m Ms. Congeniality.

Now I’m terrified that I’ve completely pissed off the entire lab staff. So I make a call to the supervisor to apologize for anything that I might have said….which thankfully was not that bad according to her. Whew, termination crisis averted.

I made it to Nashville without a hitch. Got blood work done in plenty of time (which turned out to be an appropriate level) and headed back to BG singing along to the radio. It was an unexpected drive but thankfully a beautiful day. I was possibly the calmest I’ve been in weeks on the drive back. Then, about ½ mile away from work, I got a flat tire…

I know what you’re thinking…this is where I must have decided to end it all. But surprisingly I handled it all in stride. Brandon came to my rescue (on the first call…quick learner) and we went to lunch after dropping off my car to have the tire replaced. The day ended much better than it started.

This hormonal rollercoaster is an amazing ride. Consistency gets chucked right out the window. Hard to believe that I’m not even officially knocked up yet. Can you imagine another 9 months of this? Pray for Brandon.