Going back to work

Here I am in week two of being back at work doing fairly well, but the first week was pretty awful. When I thought I was going to be back at work a week earlier, I had told my supervisor to let people know and have them not bring it up to me. It was still really hard for me to talk about it and having people mention it would just make it harder. It would have been true for that previous week, but it made it more difficult the first week back, the first week in December, when people didn't talk about it.

The first person to talk to me was my unofficial supervisor, Brandy. She just got right back into the swing of things and what I needed to be doing. She also seemed to have some difficulty looking me in the eyes, but maybe I was imagining that. Still, other people would look at me strange and give a weird, sad smile when I walked by, not knowing if they should say hi or not. Part of me was glad they didn't talk to me because I didn't want to talk to them. It was awkward day. I cried in my car all the way home that night. The next day I started doing job searches online feeling that there was no way I could still work here, not with people knowing what happened to me. I needed to go somewhere where people didn't know what happened and would treat me like just another normal person. That Wednesday was our monthy section meeting which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Still, I left wishing things weren't so weird between me and every other person at work. I told Andrew I wished they would all just tell me what they wanted to say and get it over with. He said that was how it had been at work for him; people told him they were sorry, they were thinking of or praying for us, then it got back to work as usual.

Thursday I had my second follow-up appointment with my doctor. It was two weeks exactly that day. While waiting for her in the exam room I saw the pictures on her poster board of the newborns she must have delivered. As if that wasn't heartbreaking enough, I could also hear a baby crying in another room. For the remaining 5 minutes I had to look away from the pictures and focus on the ticking clock, not the wailing child, to keep from crying. When she came in she asked how I was doing. If she had asked that question prior to Monday I would have been able to say "pretty good." I said "ok." I told her how hard it had been going back to work with people ignoring me and not knowing how to act or what to say to me. I told her I still wasn't sleeping well. It wasn't due to uncomfortable breasts and cramps this time, it was my dreams. Part of it was that I wasn't so exhausted from crying all the time, which as miserable as it had been, it had still helped me sleep soundly. Once the crying had mostly diminished, right before bed anyway, I had very vivid and memorable dreams. More like nightmares. Every dream had infants or children in it. In some dreams I was pregnant, some I played the protector of the child, and in some I was the child. I would wake up several times a night or, as I do now, very early in the morning and couldn't fall back asleep. She suggested I take Benadryl, but that hasn't helped me sleep through the night, it just makes me groggy in the morning. I didn't tell her about my dreams, just that they were weird, and she went on asking me physical health questions. She said that I seemed to be doing better than last time but to call her if I had any set-backs or seemed to be stuck in a depressed emotional state. She talked to the nurse and set-up an appointment with the specialist, that had been scheduled to do my cerclage, for a follow-up. She was also going to see if she could cancel the prenatal classes Andrew and I had signed up for and get our money back. Thank goodness for thoughtful people, especially when they're your doctor.

When Friday came, I was ready for it. What a long week it had been. Being busy and occupied at work really had not been helping my emotional state at all. I did finally get some relief from the awkwardness. I have a small cubicle in a shared space with another small cubicle. Roselyn works half-time in this building and half time in the other building. Despite the fact that she is in her 50's (I think), she is one of the few people I easily get along with and enjoy talking to at work. On Friday she told me that she didn't know if she should say anything but she wanted to let me know how sorry she was and she asked me how I was doing. Wow. It was so weird to be asked by someone that wasn't a family and so touching that she did, even though I'm sure she got the email that Brandy sent out saying I had requested not to be talked to about it. Just the fact that she cared enough to say anything made me a little choked up and I had to keep myself from crying. Her sweet gesure had turned Friday around for me. Now if only everyone else could do that.