There is a blue gift bag laying on the floor just to the left of the desk where I'm sitting. It is filled to the brim with paperwork - brochures, instructions, forms, and other goodies - all a memento of our trip to the infertility specialist this past week. I haven't touched it once since I brought it home. In fact, I'm avoiding it like the plague.
I actually woke up the morning of our appointment with a fairly positive outlook, ready to drive the two hours to the ART (Advanced Reproductive Technology) offices and see what the doctor had to say. The visit was, in moments, encouraging, depressing, mortifying, informational, scary, maddening, and lonely. But we survived. My husband, O went with me and was his usual supportive self. I knew he'd rather be just about anywhere than a waiting room full of women with malfunctioning reproductive systems and their husbands who were studiously trying not to look each other in the eye.
I have to say, we were really impressed with the entire visit. They took us back on time and for the three hours we were there, we spent every moment with a staff member - the doctor, nurse practitioner, lab techs, nurse/ultrasound tech, and financial person (who had the grim job of reminding us that our insurance only covers the initial diagnostic visits. After that, we're on our own.). I spent years managing medical clinics I have never run across a more organized, friendly, professional, and educated office staff.
We first met with my new doctor, Dr. VA., and I really liked her. She's dealt with infertility issues of her own so I felt comfortable with her. I don't know that that makes her a better doctor, but I'd imagine that it makes her more empathetic, at the least.
I had already taken 3 rounds of Clomid through the fall with Day 21 blood draw results of 6.9, 6.1, and (drum roll please) .3 with the 150 mg dosage. My body clearly was having none of that nonsense! She said we could do one more round but that it wouldn't be appreciably different that what my ob/gyn offered. We decided that time was a wastin', so IUI it is.
Armed with a plan, they sent my poor darling husband off to date a specimen cup while I had my exam and ultrasound.
During the exam, the nurse practitioner noticed a lumpy area in my right breast and asked about it. She didn't seem terribly concerned but you know me (well, you DON'T know me, but I am a WORRIER of monumental proportions) so I talked to her about it a bit more and she said they would write an order for a mammogram. Yesterday I decided to go see my ob/gyn about it and she wasn't even a little bit concerned. She said it's where I've lost weight and the cells once full of fat have "deflated" and left a couple of lumps. But, she said that since I was beginning infertility treatments soon, we might as well go ahead and get a mammogram and ultrasound, just to make double sure.
I actually woke up the morning of our appointment with a fairly positive outlook, ready to drive the two hours to the ART (Advanced Reproductive Technology) offices and see what the doctor had to say. The visit was, in moments, encouraging, depressing, mortifying, informational, scary, maddening, and lonely. But we survived. My husband, O went with me and was his usual supportive self. I knew he'd rather be just about anywhere than a waiting room full of women with malfunctioning reproductive systems and their husbands who were studiously trying not to look each other in the eye.
I have to say, we were really impressed with the entire visit. They took us back on time and for the three hours we were there, we spent every moment with a staff member - the doctor, nurse practitioner, lab techs, nurse/ultrasound tech, and financial person (who had the grim job of reminding us that our insurance only covers the initial diagnostic visits. After that, we're on our own.). I spent years managing medical clinics I have never run across a more organized, friendly, professional, and educated office staff.
We first met with my new doctor, Dr. VA., and I really liked her. She's dealt with infertility issues of her own so I felt comfortable with her. I don't know that that makes her a better doctor, but I'd imagine that it makes her more empathetic, at the least.
I had already taken 3 rounds of Clomid through the fall with Day 21 blood draw results of 6.9, 6.1, and (drum roll please) .3 with the 150 mg dosage. My body clearly was having none of that nonsense! She said we could do one more round but that it wouldn't be appreciably different that what my ob/gyn offered. We decided that time was a wastin', so IUI it is.
Armed with a plan, they sent my poor darling husband off to date a specimen cup while I had my exam and ultrasound.
During the exam, the nurse practitioner noticed a lumpy area in my right breast and asked about it. She didn't seem terribly concerned but you know me (well, you DON'T know me, but I am a WORRIER of monumental proportions) so I talked to her about it a bit more and she said they would write an order for a mammogram. Yesterday I decided to go see my ob/gyn about it and she wasn't even a little bit concerned. She said it's where I've lost weight and the cells once full of fat have "deflated" and left a couple of lumps. But, she said that since I was beginning infertility treatments soon, we might as well go ahead and get a mammogram and ultrasound, just to make double sure.
Dammit!
Why do I always seem to walk away from every doctor's appointment with something else to wait and worry about? I swear it pisses me off!!! But, the last thing my doctor said as she left the room is, "I'm not concerned about this at all." Big sigh of relief! I'll have a nervous feeling in my tummy till I get the results, but I'm feeling pretty good about it - most of the time!
The ultrasound looked fine - perhaps the remnant of an old cyst on one ovary which could be why I wasn't ovulating. I don't think so, though. I've never had normal periods from day one so I suspect that something has been screwed up for a long time.
The ultrasound looked fine - perhaps the remnant of an old cyst on one ovary which could be why I wasn't ovulating. I don't think so, though. I've never had normal periods from day one so I suspect that something has been screwed up for a long time.
Anyway, O and I met back up with the nurse that had done my ultrasound and she went over my plan of treatment. I swear I have never received so much information in so short a time, not even in college. She was great though, and answered our questions and (even better) wrote everything down for us. There were some moments when I expected to look over and see O with his fingers stuffed in his ears muttering, " “La la la la – I can’t hear you! I’m not even here. La la la la! I’m at a football game. There are no ovaries for miles around! La la la la! The only periods in the world are at the end of my sentences! La la la!”
But he was great. I could tell it was a lot of information for him to absorb. I had the advantage of having done a lot of research so I knew what they were talking about most of the time. O is more of a “bottom line, let’s cut to the chase” kind of guy.
Happily, he has overachieving sperm, to go with my underachieving ovaries, so we were thrilled about that. Every bit of my bloodwork came back "beautifully" too, so maybe we'll have a fighting chance at this after all.
I'll start Prometrium in a couple of weeks to have a "good bleed" (bleck!), and will then schedule my HSG, to see if my tubes are blocked. There is no reason to think they are, but we don't want to mature and release eggs that have nowhere to go.
If all goes well with that, we'll begin shots to get those eggs maturing, and will go from there.
So that's about it. I tell ya, it was an experience. You just haven't lived until you’ve had a smiling stranger (and not even a DOCTOR!!!) look at you and your husband and say, “So we want you to make love between 3 and 6 a.m.. I recommend the missionary position. Prop up your hips for 15 minutes afterwards, and then take a shower, not a bath, and come immediately to our offices.” I kind of want to take a shower just thinking about it! (I would imagine any veterans of the infertility wars who are reading this are wisely shaking their heads, knowing that there are many many more uncomfortable, mortifying, and make-you-squirm moments to come.)
Today I am more scared than hopeful. Or more specifically, I am scared to be hopeful. I don't quite know what to do with myself.
Perhaps digging into that blue bag isn't a bad place to start.
