Posts Tagged ‘reproductive endocrinologists’

Cycle Day Something

Ask me what I’ve been doing lately.  No scratch that.  Ask me what I haven’t been doing. 

I am proud to say I haven’t:

  • visited Mr. RE for any ultrasounds/blood work/haughty conversations with Nurse Stilletto
  • missed any work due to reproductive issues
  • swallowed a fertility pill or injected myself with a needle.
  • suffered any super-mega-major episodes due to said pills and needles.
  • spent any money on anything fertility related
  • had timed intercourse in the hopes of catching an elusive egg
  • peed on an OPK stick (aka Often Partially Kidding Stick)
  • obsessed endlessly about fertility and which cycle day it is

However, I have:

  • Stopped worrying whether I am having implantation cramps and gone back to the gym already.
  • Taken the time to appreciate what I have.
  • Felt happier than I have in a long time
  • Stopped entertaining thoughts of infertility
  • Stopped replaying the inconsiderate words of rude fertiles
  • Just tried to get on with my life

.

I didn’t seek medical treatment this month mainly for financial reasons–the money (even with decent insurance coverage) just isn’t there.  But I’m ok with that because I feel like this huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders, if only for a month.  I can’t begin to tell you how it feels not to have to drive myself to the doctor, not to request time off from work, not worrying if I had sex at the “right time”.

It takes courage to sit back and do nothing because I have always been the type to feel like I had to be doing something, anything to reach my goal.  To simply throw my hands up in the air is not me, but it sure feels good.  The way I see it, the plans I make, at least according to this area in my life, simply do not give me the result I want, so why make any? 

It feels good just to live my life.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same person I was before all of this, but I know that I want to live. 

I want to be free. 

For now, maybe just now, I don’t have to worry about how this cycle will end.  I just wish it didn’t have to.

But I Don’t Wanna Go Back to the RE

CD 1 means many different things for all of us.  For most, I suspect, it means our dream didn’t come true the prior month (despite several well-timed sessions in the sack).  For others, we may forlornly stroke our bloated bellies which would put any 7-month preggo’s tummy to shame.   For me, and countless others, we begin to mentally prepare our schedules for doctor visits, ultrasounds, and fertility drugs.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, my first thought was “I don’t wanna go back to the RE” (well, actually it was I don’t want to go to work, but my husband bribed me with cinnamon rolls and tulips, so I went).  My last visit to the RE left me feeling pretty awful (which lead to The Big, Bad Breakdown of the Month).

If I had to give advice to anyone who is visiting the RE for the first time, (or any time really) it would be this:  Never make a late afternoon appointment.  Doctors have a difficult time differentiating your left ovary from your right; nurses are tapping their pointy, black, stiletto shoes.  They have one foot out the door .

More than anyone, I understand working all day and being desperate to get out the door. What I don’t understand is scheduling patients for an appointment that you know is going to go well past your please- forgive- me- if- I-violate it- 4:30 walk-out time. 

Last month, I had a 4:00 appointment.  I wasn’t seen until about 4:15 for my baseline ultrasound .  Since my IUI didn’t work in December, my RE wanted to know if I wanted to move onto injectables (he also uttered in an oh-by-the-way tone that my age could be an issue.)  Of course, this and moving to injectables is a more involved and costly decision that surely warrants a conversation, right?  Not according to an exasperated Nurse Stiletto who is sighing and rolling her eyes and who is just so damn inconvenienced that she has to do a little paperwork before she heads out to her promising social life.  Yeah, she literally left the office less than one minute after I made it down the stairs.  I saw her in the parking lot and had to restrain myself from overusing my gas pedal.

Needless to say, I didn’t do the injectables that month largely for financial reasons, but also because I felt like I had been pushed out of the office and treated like a trespasser.  Honestly, I think Mr. RE would have taken more time to answer my questions if it hadn’t been for hell on heels.  By the end of the appointment, I felt so overwhelmed and emotional that I just wanted to get the hell out of there.   Mr. RE may have merely laid out options for me, but all that went through my head was “You’re going to need shots and it might already be too late.”

Maybe you can see why I’m not so eager to go back tomorrow.  I’m already an emotional wreck and any off-hand comment or gesture, whether intended or not, has the potential to lead to a breakdown. 

So there you have it:  Never make the last appointment of the day, and let me add, be wary of a nurse in black stilettos.    

 

Shiny Happy Pap Smears

It’s that time of year again : the dreaded pap smear!  Make me spread myself in stirrups, feel up my boobs, scrape me in a place I can’t see–that doesn’t bother me.  Make me walk in a roomful of pregnant fertiles–my heart travels to my throat and my stomach drops!

Even if I can bribe someone to walk me in blindfolded, I will still be feeling a host of emotions when I go.  It was at last year’s annual exam, that I spoke to my ob/gyn about my difficulties getting pregnant.   Well fast-forward one year and many ultrasounds later and I’m empty-handed and brokenhearted.  Guess what I’m going to be thinking about during my pelvic examination? Let’s hope that my river-crying breakdown/screaming fit with my husband/pets, let it-all-out while driving in heavy traffic episode of the month doesn’t correlate with this appointment.

As much as I don’t want to make this appointment, part of me actually wants to visit my ob-gyn again.  Why?  Read below:

1)  My ob-gyn is friendly and empathetic.  She makes conversation while she’s fondling my boobs, which certainly makes the situation less awkward for both of us.

2) The receptionist smiles (even if it is a fake grin) and says hello.

3) Everything is so shiny, bright, and white. (kind of like a negative pregnancy test–just kidding)

4) The examination room is  girly and cozy.  There are pictures of cool shoes like wedge sandals on the wall and photos of bubbly, happy, blonde babies.  The stirrups even have warm footies (usually in purple or hot pink) on them and you get a full-length cloth gown to cover up. 

Do you see why I’m sold?

Here is a breakdown of my RE’s office:

1) The receptionist (to her credit is polite and friendly), but I feel taken aback every time she slams that glass window shut after I hand her my paperwork.

2) Nurse Stiletto (more on her in another post) is super-organized and knowledgeable, but yet, she is still Nurse Stiletto (sigh)

3) Mr. RE is a nice-enough fellow, knows his stuff, and I sincerely believe does not want to merely take my money.  He answers my questions, but sometimes I need a little more support than just a pat on the back on the way out.  (Yes, he really pats my back.  I guess this is his way of being comforting?) 

4)  The examination room is, well, private, but seems a little dark and yellow.  Instead of a full-length gown, patients are given this half paper-towel gown to cover themselves from the waist down.  I can’t tell you the number of times I have waddled frantically from the bathroom to the exam area, paper clutched around waist, hoping against hope that I make  it to the exam table before the RE walks in.  I mean, he sees my vagina.  Can’t I at least keep the image of my butt sacred?!

I am ready for the shiny and the bright–permanently!  I want girly at all my doctor visits!  I want a transvaginal ultrasound where I see a baby in my uterus!   I want one of those beautiful, blonde babies in the photographs on the wall (ok, maybe not those, per se; they are the ob-gyn’s children and it wouldn’t be nice to kidnap them).  I just want happy.  Is that so wrong?