Yesterday, I met one of my dearest friends in the world for lunch at our local historical society; it's also a lovely facility for a wedding reception.
My beautiful friend's soup was too spicy and she ran to the restroom to get a Kleenex. As I sat noshing on my quiche and watching her walk back from the hallway, a flasback of epic proportions washed over me.
Four years ago, we attended a wedding reception of a co-worker of my husband's at the same place. I was going through my first or second ovulation induction, doing two follistim shots a day. I had gained a few pounds, except that I really didn't notice it until I went to put on my dress for the wedding -- less than an hour before we had to leave. It spanned across my rear end with no wiggle room at all and I felt like a sausage in a casing, ready to burst at the seams. I rummaged through my closet and, with the help of one of those slimming, spandex, bike shorts contraptions and a dress that had always been a little loose, managed to make myself somewhat presentable.
We were having a nice time at the wedding and I was only mildly self-conscious about my dress. Darling husband reassured me that I looked great. Enter the bathroom mirror.
I went to the bathroom and when I came out to wash my hands I was horrified at how I looked in the mirror. My gut was sticking out in the dress and it was definitely too tight in the rear. I broke out in tears at the sight (and I'm sure all of those hormones didn't help either). Unfortunately, one of my husband's colleague's wives, came in at the height of my despair. Not wanting her to think that I was a complete freak show (notice I said "complete"), I divulged that I was doing fertility treatments which made me fat and moody. She empathized, gave me a hug, and wiped my tears. Still, I was mortified.
And, rounding out my top three infertility breakdowns:
- a rest stop in Northern Indiana where I also discovered that my rear end had filled out my skirt way too much for public display (and for my personal comfort - I couldn't sit down in it), and that I'd have to find an alternative outfit before meeting friends for dinner in Chicago that evening
- 90 minutes later, the same day, raging out of control in a Bloomingdale's dressing room, not only lamenting over how enormous my backside was, but also the ridiculous price of a skirt that I would probably never wear again (and I haven't); I'm pretty sure that the mother and daughter in the dressing room next to me ran out in their underwear for fear of what I might do next.
Of course, there are too many times to count when I have cried my eyes out in the comfort of my own home or car. Church is another big place for these outbursts.
Where's the worst/most public/unique place that you've had an infertility breakdown?