I have this friend. We’ll call her Jane. To put it mildly, Jane is a drama queen. She has been this way since I met her 13 years ago. It’s always something with her. An illness, a mental problem, problems with men. I have never known her to not have some sort of drama going on in her life. And a lot of the drama is made up. Or maybe not COMPLETELY made up, but definitely embelished. Exaggerated. Only half-true.
Four years ago, Jane got pregnant. At that time, I hadn’t spoken to her in several years. We lost touch after high school, and it was only when she sent me a random email out of the blue that we even caught up again. She complained about the whole pregnancy. Nothing was good about it. She was sick, she was tired, she had this ailment and that ailment. She didn’t want the baby, she did want the baby, up down, all around. She wasn’t married at the time, but she and the baby’s father planned to get married at some point.
After Jack was born, Jane suffered from severe PPD. She told me that she often thought about strangling Jack and that she was getting help from a phychiatrist because she was afraid to be alone with him. If it could happen, it happened to Jane. During her PPD phase, she came clean to me that she’d had a miscarriage before Jack was born. She was 13 weeks along, she said, and it was awful. I felt terrible for her and did my best to be a good friend and listen whenever she needed me.
Fast forward to the present. Jack is three, and Jane is almost divorced to Jack’s father. (I should note that not six months ago, Jane was telling me things with she and her husband were “better than ever — we’re even trying for #2!” Weeks later, he was an abusive asshole and she was filing for divorce.) When I was going through the miscarriages, she suddenly had another one to tell me about. Instead of having had just the one at 13 weeks, she had actually had two. One at 10 weeks and one at 13 weeks. She told the story of how she spent all weekend in the bathtub, standing there bleeding. I was suspicious, but didn’t want to question her.
Now, she’s got this boyfriend. We’ll call him Joe. Joe is “everything” she’s ever wanted. He’s amazing, he’s wonderful, he’s this, he’s that. She emailed me on Wednesday and said, “I got a BFP yesterday. I’m terrified.” After making sure it wasn’t her soon-to-be-ex’s baby, I asked what she planned to do. She said she hoped it was just a false positive, because, “I’m on the pill, Amanda! I’ve never missed a day!” She proceded to tell me that she had a doctor’s appointment that day at 4:45 to discuss her anxiety issues, and she was going to “demand a beta test”.
Ok. I have to admit that I was (I AM) skeptical. It just seems SO far fetched and out there. And I KNOW she’s drama. I know she wants attention. A miracle baby? Why not throw that into the mix? Anyway, she tells me the next morning that her beta was at 76. But “It doesn’t matter because I started bleeding this morning.” Oh. Ok. Told her I was so sorry, hang in there, blah blah blah. (Can you tell that I”m getting irritated?)
Today, she emails me and tells me that her beta from today was 307. But that she’d been “bleeding like you wouldn’t believe” last night. Now she throws in “I have a hematoma, 8 cm X 9 cm, which my OB called “gigantic.” She says I’ll bleed through my whole first tri.”
I’m sorry. I can’t even continue listening to her story. I didn’t even email her because I am just SO irritated/annoyed/angry with her. I don’t believe her, not for a minute. I’ll believe her when she delivers a baby in 9 months.
I know this sounds cruel. I realize I sound like a complete bitch. But I just don’t think she’s telling the truth. I have a feeling that in 3 months, she will “miscarry” again. And I use the term “miscarry” lightly because you can’t miscarry a nonexistant pregnancy.
Had to get that off my chest.