Monday morning: A woman in Chicago has a baby. I do not know this woman. A doctor (who I also do not know) in the practice where I go delivers said baby.
Monday afternoon: This doctor falls behind in her patient-seeing schedule.
Monday late afternoon: I see this doctor at 5:00 for a 3:15 appointment. Appointment lasts about five minutes. We establish that Bub 2.0's heartbeat is good. He is measuring just fine. I need to try not to pick up Bubby unless absolutely necessary. I need to eat bananas to stave off the extremely painful charley-horses that have recently plagued me. I have fortunately not repeated the immense weight gain registered at the last appointment (NTB). Mood check: I was pissy and frustrated in the waiting room (though very thankful that my mother-in-law was in town and at home with bubby because if it were my babysitter, I would have had to leave the office so that she could get home to pick up her own kids). I am in a fairly positive mood after seeing the doctor. She apologized for the wait and was really nice and had a good sense of humor. If she is the one on call when Bub 2.0 is ready to enter the world, I'm cool with it.
Monday early evening: Drive home and get stuck in some rush hour traffic on Lake Shore Drive. Mood check: Can't help but note to self that if I had been seen on time (or semi-on time), this traffic would not be a problem. However, the sun is out, and I can see lots of go getters walking, jogging, and biking along the lake. I feel happy for them.
Monday early evening, part 2: I exit at Irving Park and realize that there is a Cubs game this evening and that it is starting in about 40 minutes. Mood check: Slightly irritated. We bought a house knowing it was three blocks from Wrigley Field so we can't be surprised by the pain-in-the-ass factor of Cubs games, but for the record: We are officially over the Cubs. Over the Natty Light cans in our front yard left by drunken fans. Over the traffic. Over the drunk who kicked a spindle off our front porch after a recent game. Over the people who drive too fast down our street. Over the twentysomething young women who think that a jean skirt that barely passes one's underwear (though, likely they all wear thongs), a child-sized t-shirt, a cell phone glued to one's ear, and flip flops constitutes an outfit for watching sports.
Monday early evening, part 3: I am stopped at a stop light at Irving Park and Clark Street. Completely stopped. Mood check: Not too shabby. This Cubs traffic is not so bad tonight, and I am two minutes from home. Two minutes! Plus, I am enjoying listening to Pride and Prejudice on my ipod car dock thing.
Monday early evening, part 4: The car behind me (who I think had also been completely stopped) suddenly hits my car. There is a loud noise and a bit of a jolt. I pull over. So does the driver. Mood check: Disbelieving. You have got to be kidding me that this just happened.
Monday early evening, part 5: We get out of our cars and assess the damage. Her car is fine. Mine is not. The damage is not major, but it is enough that I want to file a proper police report and make sure that someone who is not me or my husband pays for the repairs (though, who we are kidding, we're on the hook for the deductible). Plus, I want everything done officially in case the baby or I have been hurt. As ever when I have been involved in little scrapes, I immediately imagine that my back and neck are permanently damaged. Because there is a Cubs game, the Traffic Management Authority people are all over us. One woman keeps getting in my face and saying, "I can see that you're pregnant. Do you need an ambulance m'am. I will call one. Just say the word, and I will call one." Her intensity is off-putting. The last thing I want after two hours at the doctor's office is to leave my car on the side of the road and hop in an ambulance. I tell her what I would like is for her to call the police so we can file a report. She says they usually don't come unless both cars are un-driveable. But, no worries, we can just exchange information and then "just go to the police station and file a report." This would be all well and good except that the Cubs game is going to start in 20 minutes and the police station is just down the street from Wrigley Field. I estimate a drive to the station would be a long and super-frustrating experience that might result in my purposely rear-ending another car out of rage. Two more traffic management people try to help, but there is nothing to be done. The woman and I exchange information. She is nice, but not a native English speaker so there is some confusion but I think we're all set. I tell her I will call her after I've filed the report (apparently we have 24 hours) and then she has to go and do her part of it. I don't want to give details, but I did have some moments where I was shrill and unreasonable with the traffic authority people. I might have said a few bad words. There were definitely tears. Mood check: Emotionally fragile. Really pissed off. Wishing again that I had never been held up at the doctor's office to begin with.
Monday early evening, part 6: Arrive home. Tell Bub and mother-in-law about accident. Page my doctor to see if she thinks I need to be checked to make sure the Bub 2.0 is okay. She says unless I am cramping or contracting I am probably fine. Mood check: Trying to pull myself together.
Monday early evening, part 7: Hubby assesses damage on car, pronounces it minimal, and does not seem to register my emotionally fragile state or the trauma I have experienced. Mood check: Whatever and you're welcome for still cooking dinner after all I've been through today.
Monday post-dinner: Hubby drives me to police station to file report. We circle station for 15 minutes. There is no parking because the station apparently provides none and due to the G.D. Cubs game, nothing else is available either. Hubby double parks, and I go inside. Report is filed and takes five minutes. Officer is disinterested in entire process, but lets me know that he hates Cubs fans. At this moment, though usually not a Cubs-hater per say, I am in such a foul mood that I commiserate with him. Mood check: At least I don't have to deal with report tomorrow. I will be eating ice cream on my couch in less than ten minutes. I'm going to be okay.
Monday post-police station: I finish report just as Cubs game has ended. Hubby and I are stuck in Cubs traffic on the way back home. Mood check: Weary but perhaps a bit amused.
Tuesday morning: Am sure that my back and neck are hurt (actually, I think it is just temporary soreness, but still, I don't need it). Fixing to call the driver of "striking vehicle" (lingo from police report). Look over police report to make sure indifferent officer who recorded my driver's license number did so correctly. Realize that I have been driving with an expired driver's license for almost six weeks. Have small moment of gratitude in which I am thankful that the officer did not pay attention. Mood check: Really low. Now, I have to renew my license and do it today. (Though again, thankful that my mother-in-law is in town as this is an errand that I would hate to bring the bub along to do).
Tuesday afternoon: I leave for the DMV. I have been there before. Due to the fact that I forget that Elston Avenue is a diagonal street and due to my emotionally fragile state and due to the fact that my husband (read personal GPS) is out of town and unavailable by phone, it takes me 80 minutes to get to DMV. Mood check: There are tears. Many tears. I am so frustrated with myself and with this situation.
Tuesday afternoon, part 2: Get new license with minimal fuss. Mood check: Relieved and hungry. Ready to get home and get to work on dissertation as that is what I planned to do while I have the extra babysitting help.
Tuesday afternoon, part 3: Can't work on dissertation right away because I have to wait for random fence guy to come and give estimate for fence that blew over last week. His "twenty minutes" is more like 40. Mood check: I am over this entire day.
Okay, I will end this saga now because it doesn't have any sort of climax or punch line. If you've suffered through this entire post, God Bless you. Obviously, I know I should focus on the positives which are that I never got busted for my expired license and, much more importantly, the accident did not harm me or the baby. Yes, I am grateful. But really, sometimes you just have to have yourself a little pity party.
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10 comments:
Sounds like a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day(s). I was feeling really bad for you throughout the entire post, yet I couldn't help laughing at the same time (perhaps because I talked to you earlier and know you are ok). I really enjoyed the mood checks. I think pity parties are fine once in a while, particularly if you identify them as such.
As a side note, my driver's license photo is so terrible that I have committed to memory the date when I can get it replaced so hopefully I never run into the expired license problem. Also fortunate for me, my BMV is located in a strip center with Aldi, the Dollar Tree, and a vacant storefront that once held a large grocery store. As you can imagine, it's not a high traffic area where double parking would ever be necessary, NTB.
Some days are like that, aren't they? Sounds like you handled it pretty well. It helps that you had a handle on things. I always hate when I let something spiral out of control then have to add distress to my life by replaying whatever I said and wish I would or would not have said. Glad all is well. m
Holy shit. This is just horrible. I hope the remainder of the week improves by leaps and bounds. And I, for one, am astounded and amazed that you made dinner after all of the mishaps on the day of the collision.
For what it's worth, I love the Chicago DMV, even though I, too, got super lost when I had to go there for my IL license those years ago. The NYC DMV downtown pales in comparison. It is located right on top of where one would get the ferry to Ellis Island if one were one of, oh, a BILLION tourists there on a regular basis.
Oh Mep, man do I feel bad for you. I couldn't believe that it continued as such. I had a similar situation a few weeks back when flying to VA Beach for the half marathon. Long story short I hate air travel and had a complete meltdown on a parked plane sitting next to a bathroom that reaked.
oh pooks...sounds like a rough one. I have cried at the DMV in New York more than once. Most likely because they are so abrasive and just dont understand how to be nice. Believe you me I had a pity party each and every time I left the DMV.
What a crap-tacular couple of days! And yet you were able to make dinner?! And you CHOSE to make dinner?! That sounds like a Domino's or Rodeo burger for everyone night! Seriously, you are a saint!
I just read over my post and I am mightily ashamed at all the self-pity, yet feel so fortunate to have so many of you willing to attend my pity party and offer sympathy.
SMF -- My mother-in-law told me not to make dinner and I was all about that plan, but then hubby (unaware of emotionally fragile state, as noted) was all, "What's for dinner?" and I just went forward with my original, pre-trauma plan.
Sad that you had a bad, bad, and very bad day. Glad you both are ok. Glad that you kicked back and had yourself (both of you) some ice cream. Pity Party away, girl- you earned it with that day...
As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
A poor little baby child is born
In the ghetto . . . .
So the obstetrician's shows up late
and if there's one thing MEP don't need
it's two hours with nothing to read
In the waiting room . . . (in the waiting room)
People don't you understand?
You have to have an assured clear distance ahead
when you're driving. (when you're driving)
Take a look where you're going
Drive a reasonable speed
Stay of your phone
Put some clothes on your butt
In Wrigleyville . . . (In Wrigleyville)
There's a family at home in desperation
Without taco soup or a sweet confection,
Just Natty Light cans. (Just Natty Light cans)
And she's fielding calls from the plaintiff's bar
About what happened in her car
On a game day. . . . (On a game day)
And she blogs all about it without any pay
on a Chicago morning, cold and gray
and another little baby child is born
In the ghetto . . . (In the ghetto)
first off, hilarious song cregan75. hilarious. and mep, i feel your pain. "when it rains, it pours" days are a bother. and thank god for pity parties and the ability we have to laugh at ourselves. sending lots of love for some sunny spring days ahead...
p.s. drinking an enormous glass of water before bedtime really helped me with the charley horse issue.
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