Until the Fat Lady Sings?

My mom. I like her a lot even though we can still have our moments. She's this fantastic artist, and it's something she only started doing a few years ago. In high school she had an art teacher who told her she had no talent, so she stopped all her dreams. (I, too, had a teacher like this, who told me I couldn't write. What is wrong with teachers who say things like that?) When my youngest brother was a senior in high school, she started taking art classes again. And now-- wow-- she's very good. And lately she started taking a poetry class with a very good friend of mine. And not only has she blown me away with her painting, but her poetry is way above par too.

I called her today and she said, "Well, first my advice was that you go home and have a glass of wine, but that's probably not a good idea. So now my advice is that you wait until tomorrow to get upset, because if you are still pregnant, having a breakdown will not be good for you."

It's good advice, n'est pas?

This is what happened: All day I felt positive. I thought, "This little rice is going to jump out of its lethargy today." I taught my class, sung Louis Prima songs at the top of my lungs on the commute home ("I eat antipasto twice just because she is so nice, Angelina!") I went to the pharmacy to refill my estrace prescription. I talked to the Little Rice all day in my head, urging it away. And then my phone rang.

It was the new nurse at Dr. BusyBusyBusy's. She's twelve. I'm not kidding you. She gave me my new number with no intonation at all. I like it better when the older nurses call and cry along with you. It might not be professional, but it's caring. Dr. BBB wants to see me tomorrow, and I'm to continue taking all medicines. Until he talks to me. Make of that what you will. I go back and forth about it.

My new number is 153 or 156-- I can't remember because the haze descended on me that fast. All I could do was think about how I had to get out of the pharmacy. Why were they taking so long with a prescription I wasn't even going to need any more? Could they just HURRY THE FUCK UP? And then I smiled and signed my name ever-so-sweetly and gave them the co-pay and walked with short quick steps outside where the first sob came gulping up. And then more and more and when I got to my car, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it into the driver's seat. And I called Partner, whose stupid Nextel phone said, "Please hold while the Nextel customer you are trying to reach can be located," and I lost it further because usually that means that she won't be able to be reached. But today, luck (ha ha ha) was on my side, because the phone did ring and she did pick up, and I cried and cried. And told her to come home as soon as she could. And she had to hold in whatever was in her because she wasn't alone in our very open plan office.

I know-- it's going up. But less than twenty points. And while there is a huge part of me that still believes in the Little Rice, there's also the part that came out of me in the car. The one that realizes this is probably not good news at all. It battles the Katie that recalls the four negative HPTs followed by a positive beta. Could I still go up? Could the Little Rice be teasing us? I've never wanted to be teased this cruelly in my life.

For now, I'm going to try and hold back the crying again. I think my mom's advice was sage, even though I think it's over. Plus, I hate crying. My skin is so sensitive it makes my face breakout. (Hey man, vain until the end I guess.) So for now, I'm putting on the pajamas and getting in bed with my book. A cup of tea. I might stay there until tomorrow morning.

On the plus side, a manhattan could be in my life sooner rather than later. Even though I wish it were later.