I had my big fertility testing appointment today. It wasn’t very fun, but I’m definitely glad this process is in full swing. Here is the recap.
Due to a series of L.A. traffic mishaps, we arrived at my appointment five minutes LATE. I felt queasy from the wild ride due to said traffic, and I had the wrong office suite number. (My doc moved recently.) Yet, somehow we made it.
I plopped down, and immediately the nurse (a NEW nurse) called my name. Nurse Newbie took my weight, my blood pressure, and then asked my purpose for the visit. “Saline sonogram and blood work-up,” I said.
She looked at me like I had a third eye. Apparently, she was completely unaware that she was working in a gynecologist’s office. Earth to nurse. Hellooooo.
“A saline sonogram,” I repeated.
Then she made her eyes really wide, and nodded, “Oh yes, a saline sonogram. Of course!” as she trailed off to the receptionist’s desk probably to go google “saline sonogram.”
Pardon my French, but why do I always get stuck in these weird situations when I go in to have my vagina inspected? It has happened many times over in numerous different offices. I don’t get it!
So anyway, the next hour involved that old familiar awkwardness, bright lights, some cramping, and me helping direct my own sonogram.
Nurse Newbie was acting as my doctor’s “assistant” for the procedure and I use that term very loosely. I was the assistant! I was repeating cyst measurements from my doctor while Nurse Newbie fumbled with her pen. Stuff was flying to and fro between my legs. Do I get paid for assisting on my own sonogram? I don’t think so.
I’ll stop complaining now, because it’s fruitless, but I had to talk crap about Nurse Newbie for awhile because she was a hot mess.
The doctor saw some abnormal, not-so-great things on the ultrasound, and she wanted to talk to me about them.
I got dressed, then waited for what seemed like an eternity (a.k.a. fifteen minutes) for my doctor to see another patient and then meet with me. As I stared at her twelve different diplomas hanging on her office walls, I felt this unrelenting wave of sadness wash over me. Then the tears started to well in my eyes. I think it was nothing more than a little fear, and maybe some anger that there I was, sitting in THE chair, waiting once again for shitty news.
I watched as Nurse Newbie led a bright-eyed Asian couple into the same ultrasound room I had just dragged myself out of. I heard the woman say excitedly, “I’m ten weeks today!” On the very same monitor that I just measured my babies (ovarian cysts), she would measure her baby (fetus).
Stab me in the eye with a dirty syringe. Also, where are the tiny violins when you need them?
My doctor (who is amazing, by the way) finally came back and rescued me from my pity party. I think she could tell I was feeling uneasy.
The long and the short of it is that I will need minor surgery again. The procedure is called a laparoscopy. It is likely I have endometriosis (which I have suspected for quite awhile now). Oh, and I also have a polyp that is annoying and needs to come out.
The laparoscopy will allow my doctor to get up close and personal with my cysts, shake hands with them, and hopefully zap those f*ckers away. Spring cleaning for my nether regions!
And so begins another step in this crazy process. I feel like we are getting closer to where we need to be. It’s been one long-ass ride, and it ain’t even close to being done yet.
Go Team Less than Domestic Baby! 🙂