I went to the dentist today. I was supposed to go a couple of months ago, but I rescheduled it because I didn’t feel like going and explaining everything. I planned on telling whoever called to remind me of the appointment what happened with Jillian so I wouldn’t have to explain it in person, but nobody called to remind me and I completely forgot about it until last night. I had knots in my stomach because I didn’t want to have to explain it in person. My appointment wasn’t with my usual hygienist, which caused even more anxiety about going. I cried on the way there because I was so nervous.
As I was walking into the room, the hygienist asked if there have been any changes to my health since my last appointment. She apparently didn’t pick up on my lack of huge pregnant belly (I looked at my chart while she was taking my x-rays to be processed, and my EDD was the last note written on there). I took a deep breath and started to say, “I had my baby prematurely and she only lived for four days.” Instead, I only got out “I had my baby” before the hygienist interrupted me to exclaim her congratulations. I closed my eyes and said, “she died.” The hygienist said, “oh, I’m sorry,” like I’d just told her I’d stubbed my toe on the way in.
She then cheerfully asked me if I did anything fun for Valentine’s Day. Seriously, woman? I just told you my baby died and you want to chat about what I did for a piece of crap fake holiday? I should have answered truthfully, which would have been that I moped around the house all day because there’s no point in celebrating Valentine’s Day when my heart is missing, but I just said “no” and hoped she would shut up. Instead, she expressed sympathy for my lack of a nice dinner out or any other “fun” things. She was sorrier about that than she was about my dead baby.
I hate people sometimes.