Doctor-ly woes…

I had an appointment with my OB-GYN who (in case I haven’t mentioned this before) is quite simply one of the nicest, sweetest, gentlest souls I have ever. He also doubles up as an RE; we have been consulting him for over 1.5 years now and he shares the constant frustrations & disappointments that have assailed us on this journey that we began two years ago.

Today was just a routine appointment; I wanted to get my lining checked and I also had a few questions regarding our future plans. I knew though that the real reason I went to see him was that he gives me incredible solace and, that most coveted of emotions that I seem to have an especially hard time dredging up nowadays -hope! I wanted to share with him the heartbreaking failure of our first IVF cycle and I knew he would understand how particularly shattered I was that all three of our chromosomally abnormal embryos had been girls. I have always wanted a little girl to love and cherish and this particular discovery resulted in many tear-soaked pillow cases.

The thing about his office is that it is crazy busy, with a cramped reception area and, of course, women in all stages of pregnant glory. Added to that is the fact that one of the doctors in that office is a pediatrician so there is no dearth of swelly bellies and little moppets sleeping soundly in their baskets, fists tightly curled up in to little balls, or mischievous toddlers chortling with delight. As a result, I find it tough to go there. Scratch that, it’s a frickin’ torture session to say the least and seldom do I emerge unscathed!

Today promised to be especially challenging since K could not accompany me. He had work and I did not want him to cancel his appointments just because his wife is a sad sap who cannot handle emphatic visual reminders of her own lack. Sigh! I drove down there, reasoning with myself all along the way that since my appointment was close after the lunch hour, perhaps it would be empty…-ish?! No such luck. There were three pregnant women, and a few others who had little babies or toddlers. There was also a thin, young woman who had a wee little baby bundled up in his fathers arms even as she looked ready to pop out another one! Perfect recipe for unadulterated heartburn!

And then there was me. No attachments, nothing. I tried not to feel wistful about the customary ‘here’s your sticker. go pee in a cup’ missive that was being doled out to pretty much every other woman there, or the ‘omygodshe’sgrownupsomuch’ shouts of delight that sporadically emerged from some nurse or the other. I was going to be zen, I had decided. I came armed with enough books to last me a few days and finding a seat closest to the door (that much easier to bolt in case things rapidly went south!) I settled down for the wait. About an hour and a half later, I was finally called in.

Here’s the thing -I always end up feeling phony when I go there somehow, like I should not be there in the first place. I feel apologetic about taking up precious time that would otherwise be allotted to women who were ‘truly in need’ aka the ones who were pregnant. Even though my logical mind shouts out in protest: no, no you deserve to be here as much as them, perhaps even more. So when the nurse apologized for keeping me waiting, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and I instantly hated myself for feeling like that. Instead of mumbling my usual ‘no worries’, however I just smiled which I hoped communicated ‘yea I can see how busy you are, but thanks for apologizing cause I’ve been waiting a long time’ instead of ‘goodness, are you crazy? I should be the one saying sorry considering how I have just inserted myself in the middle of an already crazy day unnecessarily taking up your time and that of the doctors’.

I have no clue what she was thinking for she issued her standard instructions–please undress from waist down and wait for the doctor –even before I had a chance to gauge her reaction. From there on it was another half hour or so before the doc came. All in all, it was a good visit. A quick ultrasound revealed that my lining was still strong at 9.5mm and that there were several follicles showing in both ovaries. He reassured me on several counts and encouraged me not give up on hope, that there was enough that was in my favor. I left feeling uplifted and a teeny bit less sad than when I had stepped in the clinic.

Time to start prepping for the SIRM phone consult next week!

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