marți, 1 februarie 2011

That'll be $10 thanks

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Being a woman infertile woman means that I will, from time to time spend many degrading hours, legs spread-eagled while Dr. So-and-So, and Dr. This-and-That poke, prod, ooh and ahh at the workings and malfunctions of my busted bits.

Today was one of those days ----- multiplied by 10.

My sono-hys started out rather routinely with my sonographer "Dj" measuring my ovaries, uterus and all that muck, swearing that she actually understands what's what and wasn't just making a good guess as to which is a fallopian tube and which is an endometrium. To me it all looks like a gray cloudy floaty mess and sometimes I think they're just imagining what they say they're seeing. Oh right, that's until they predict my baby is going to die and it actually happens... riggggggght, maybe they do know what they're talking about.

After Dj was done she called in the Doctor who's name slips me but who was quite nice and very concerned with keeping me involved in the whole process and not treating me like just another snatch. That was nice of her.

So here's how the whole sono-hys thing works......

After all the measurements were taken they clamped me open with a speculum and with what looked like iodine, proceeded to reach up inside of me to wipe my cervix clean. Odd, I didn't realize it was dirty but I guess it's possible since there have been a lot of people digging around up in there recently and who knows what some nasty little bugger could have left behind.

Once all sparkly clean, my Doc inserted a catheter and started squirting saline solution up inside of me whilst Dj stuck in her slutty-cam and began looking around for malfunctions, misformations and so have you. To be honest the most painful part (if you can call it that) was the insertion of the fluid which felt like someone was pinching my uterus. Maybe someone was... the Doc was giving me some eyes so maybe that was just her way of coyly saying what's up. I guess everyone's got to have an original method of letting you know they care.

After a few minutes of wrinkled foreheads and crossed up brows my Doc finally announced that she wasn't quite sure if what she was seeing was actually there or whether she was imagining it. She needed a second opinion to which I agreed and in came Doc #2. When he couldn't come to any conclusive inference either he invited in Doc #3, Doc #4, and Doc #5, at which point I started charging admission. The way I figure it is that if that many Docs are gonna get off on my exposed parts then I might as well churn a profit. Fuck knows I'll be paying the bills for all this testing for months to come.

So there I lay, legs EVERYWHERE with 5 doctors, 2 residents and Dj, all staring at me with huge question marks floating in a mismatched puzzle above their heads.

Finally they concluded that I should put my pants back on and come back in a month to re-do the same tests.
"WHAT THE FUCK".....I thought, "I just WAITED A MONTH for this test and now these bastards are sending me home with no results".
This was just not acceptable.

But since every shred of decency in my body had already left the building, I quietly walked out of the hospital, head down, crampy and trying my best to hold back the flood gates since crying whilst walking through midtown at 5:30pm is just not kosher. Someone was bound to hastle me and let's just say I was not in a hastling mood. Finally I found a Mc Donalds, tucked myself into the bathroom and broke down, crying out of pure frustration at the fact that no one seemed able to give me a viable answer. Added to this, no one told me that the injected fluid would suddenly start gushing out of me, a mix of iodine, blood and saline solution, all at once without notice. So there I stood in the disgusting Mc D's restroom with streams of water dripping down my face and a concoction of 3 staining my favorite, lucky jeans. Quite a sight.

When, like a God-sent angel, my phone started ringing and it was my regular, fabulous OBGYN calling to let me know that she had also looked at my tests and disagreed with the Doctors at the hospital. There might be a tiny septum (growth of skin) on my uterus, but even if there is, it's so tiny she wouldn't do anything about it. So she has now referred me to a fertility specialist Dr Sign, who will start his onslaught of tests on us both since my thrombophilia results are also in and negative. Her thoughts are that I'm probably just a low progesterone producer and that I should be put on a supplement before trying again. That said, she's still just an OB and doesn't want to make that call on her own. So next steps, Dr. Sign... my first, real male cooch doctor.

Physically exhausted and soaked, I headed over to Bloomingdales to pick up some new pants and of course for a little retail therapy. There's nothing a girl could use more after a discouraging day than new clothes, shoes and makeup.

Don't ya think?