Month: August 2014

Not Everyone Wants Your Life

Posted on by thecommonostrich

Earlier this week, I had to attend a few all day offsites for work. This meant, among other things, having to spend gobs of quality time with my coworkers.

I mostly enjoy my coworkers. I am fortunate enough to work with incredibly smart, passionate people. These are my two favorite qualities, so this mostly works out.

Mostly. Did you notice how many times I used that word? Because there are exceptions.

After a morning brainstorming session, my team had lunch together. I was sitting at a table with a colleague who is getting married soon, and Myna. (Some of you may remember her from an earlier post.) For the purposes of this post, let’s call said colleague Grebe.

Myna: So do you and your fiance want children?

Grebe: No, not really.

Myna: You’ll feel differently once you’re married.

Grebe: I don’t think so. Neither of us want kids.

Myna: But I’m sure if you found yourself pregnant, you’d want to have children.

Grebe: I’m 36 years old. I’ve managed not to get pregnant so far, and I don’t think there is a big chance I’ll “find myself pregnant” anytime soon.

OH. MY. GOD.

This woman is legit nuts. What was Myna hoping to accomplish? I mean, how was Grebe supposed to answer that last question? “If I found myself pregnant, I’d probably give it up for adoption. Or abort it. Yes, I think my reproductive choices are perfectly acceptable things to talk about over lunch with colleagues.”

“If you just happen to find yourself pregnant, you’d want them.” Um, no. Not necessarily. There could be any number of reasons that Grebe and her manfriend don’t want kids. Maybe she can’t have them. Maybe he can’t have them. Maybe one of them is a carrier for some crazy genetic disorder that they don’t want to pass on.

Or maybe they just don’t want to have kids.

This is not an affront to humanity. And most of all, it is none of her business.

I am offended by this, even though I do want children. Myna was so intent on making Grebe agree with her that she couldn’t fathom that her questions might be hurtful to Grebe (or the innocent bystanders at the table. Ahem.)

It is amazing to me how hard it is for some people to accept that not everyone wants their life. Myna has two kids, and they are the center of her life. She is flatout in love with her children, which is lovely. But this doesn’t mean that everyone wants what she has– or can even attain it.

I know this. You know this. But what is it with people who need their lives validated by EVERYONE ELSE? And if you happen to choose differently, you’re obviously wrong. Or you don’t know any better. Because if you just happened to find yourself living their lives, you’d realize what you’ve been missing all along.

Luckily, I’ve come to realize that I have a choice when these conversations spring up.

I got up and left the table. By the time I came back, the plates and the intrusive assumptions had been cleared.

Tis a Gift

Posted on by thecommonostrich

When I was a kid, my family took many road trips. The epic “National Lampoon” kind of road trips. In retrospect, I really love them, though at the time it felt akin to being trapped in a vinyl-covered prison with two other sweaty inmates (i.e. my siblings.)  Not only has this provided my family with some hysterical stories, I also got to see a lot of the country in a more intimate way than hopping from one airport to another.

On one of these trips, we went to a Shaker village. They have some great ideas, like the belief that god is both male and female, which leads to more equal leadership in the church.  The Shakers also have some crazy ideas like no babies (Hm… maybe I’m Shaker…)

Anyway, there is  Shaker hymn that I’ve always loved since that trip, “Simple Gifts.”

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free…  To come down where we ought to be, not where we want to be. Damn you, Shakers! If it weren’t for that whole celibacy thing, I’d join up right now.

In an effort not to sink deeper into crabbiness while I wait to move on to IVF (because I WILL MOVE ON TO IVF, DAMIN IT!), I hereby decree this the “Gift” post. These are gifts in my life, big and small. I will make every effort to be thankful for them. In no particular order:

1) Breathing, the act of filling my lungs up with air.

2) The sparrows I saw on my walk this afternoon.

3) Sweatpants. Come to think of it, any pants with elastic waistbands.

4) My cat yawning.

5) Holding my mom’s hand.

6) Napping. I have never woken up from a nap unhappy. EVER.

7) Cheesy grits. You can take a girl out of the South, but not the South out of a girl.

8) Spending a day at the beach.

9) Red lip stick.

10) Running. I honestly believe it is the closest we humans get to flying.

11) Summer. Even the stinking hot parts.

12) Singing loudly, and in my case poorly.

13) Watermelons.

14) Listening to my dad tell jokes about drunk priests. REPEATEDLY.

15) Friends who know which circumstances call for pizza and which ones call for beer.

16) Meditation.

17) Fall in New England. I swear there is no more beautiful place on earth.

18) Waking up to the sound of birds singing.

19) Iced coffee.

20) My dear Mr. Ostrich. Almost everything about him. 

21) Good writers.

22) The National Park system.

23) LIBRARIES.

24) Live shows. I do love an excuse to be loud and rowdy.

25) Thunder storms.

26) Croissants.

27) My hair. Seriously, I have great hair.

28) Pencil skirts.

29) Human kindness.

30) My belief that every day starts fresh.

 

“Well, Of Course.”

Posted on by thecommonostrich

Today I went for my sonohysterogram, and Anti-Mullerian tests. Because Dr. Petrel was on vacation, I had to go to another office which was about an hour north from my home. Charming.

I got there a little early, and did my best to keep calm. Pat myself on the back, I was pretty successful. Before I left, I did some meditations and practiced recentering my thoughts. I had to do it a few times in the waiting room, but mostly I gave off the impression that I am emotionally balanced.

First up, ultrasounds! You ladies all know the drill- pants off, scooch your bum down to the edge of the table, lay back and relax. (Ha!) As the nurse performed the ultrasound, she asked if I had peed before. Yes, twice. Turns out my very effective kidneys were filling up my bladder yet AGAIN. She could see it. Which makes total sense, but it’s a little strange to have someone tell you that they can see your bladder getting full.

Then we moved along to the sonohysterogram. I’ve had an HSG before, and the process is very similar. Neither I’ve found to be particularly pleasant, mind you.  People say that this isn’t a big deal, and it really isn’t. But I would like to state for the record that for me, this is more than “just getting a pap.” It’s legit uncomfortable.

The doctor who performed the test was a younger woman, probably around my age. She was light, fun, asked me about my weekend. For some reason, we ended up talking about gay pride parades. I noticed that she was poking around in there a bit longer than my HSG– my cervix was playing hide-and-seek.

I do not mean to freak anyone out who hasn’t had a sonohysterogram or HSG, but I KNOW when that catheter is in. I started cramping and I had to catch my breath for a second. The lights went off, the wand went in, and they got down to work.

It’s strange to lie there and have people talk about what’s happening to you, just not talking at you. At a certain point, the doctor said that the saline balloon was deflating, so they needed to get the pictures quickly. They’re snapping up pics like my uterus is Kim Kardashian, when the doctor says “It looks like there is something on the anterior wall. Can we get that?” She starts jiggling that damn wand around, which seemed to have moved the catheter around too. At this point, I could feel my uterus getting bloated. I knew it wasn’t bad, it just didn’t feel right.

DR: Are you doing okay?

ME: Yeah… (unconvincingly)

DR: Are you feeling [INSERT MEDICAL JARGON HERE]?

ME: I have no idea what that means.

DR: Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous? Sweaty?

ME: I am a little clammy…

DR: Okay, we’ll get this finished up then.

When they were done (which was mercifully soon), the doctor went over the results with me. Drum roll, please… I have two very small polyps in my uterus, one toward the front and one toward the back. I took the news like a champ. No idea why, since my usual MO is to freak out over everything. On a certain level, I was expecting this. I actually said “Okay, when do we schedule the operation?” (Some of you may remember this premonition from my post on Friday.) I have to wait until Dr. Petrel is back from her vacation for the final verdict, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting those suckers removed.

I put my pants back on, and waddled out to the car. I was half way there when I remember that I need to get my blood work for the Anti-Mullerian test, and I waddled back in to have my blood drawn.

As I drove the 45 minutes back to my workplace, I was abnormally calm. I was definitely feeling crampy and crabby, but that was my body, not my mind. Mostly, I just thought that this is another step on my journey. I was struck by this one thought, however.

My body really does not want to get pregnant.

It’s growing polyps, producing fewer/low quality eggs (potentially- still waiting on the AMH test results.) It’s throwing all sorts of roadblocks here. To quote some other blogger somewhere: “My body isn’t a wonderland. It is an asshole.”

I want to be clear- I do not think that this is “a sign” or that this is anyone’s “will.” I still believe that all these hurdles are surmountable. But let’s be real: if it weren’t for the miracle of medicine, I would have a very slim chance of getting pregnant at this point. Let’s hear it for science!

As a postscript to this delightful day, I learned a good friend of mine is pregnant. She is one of the folks in my life who knows about my IF dramz, so she wrote me the sweetest note about how happy she is, but how she understands if I’m upset. I honestly appreciate that she chose to email me personally, rather than get ambushed on Facebook. And as we’ve established, I’m truly happy for her. Her joy is my joy– until the Universe stops being a tool and gives me a little of my own.

However, I was struck by the timing. I’m sitting at my desk– hunched over in a ball recovering from my sonohysterogram crampage– when I get the email. She’s growing a baby. I’m growing polyps.

“Well, of course.”

Down, But Not Out. Not Yet.

Posted on by thecommonostrich

On Wednesday at 4:48, I got the following message on my voicemail.

“Hi, it’s Fancy Pants from Dr. Petrel’s office. We just got your blood work done for your day 3 labs, and a couple of them are a little out of sync. So Dr. Petrel would like to do another test, something called an Anti-Mullerian hormone test. It just gives us another way to look at things, to get a better, truer reading. Sometimes the lab results can get a little screwy depending on how our cycles work. So I’m going to put that order in, you can do it any time…”

And I promptly shat my pants. (Metaphorically, of course.) I honestly can’t tell if Fancy Pants is trying to be nonchalant because a) this is a nonchalant thing, or b) this is a huge colossal problem and she is trying to avoid my complete meltdown. Regardless of her best efforts, I went with option b.

This morning I got a notice that my results were now available online, so I logged in to see what’s up. All hormone levels are within normal, with the exception of my FSH levels. Which are high.

Which is not good.

I googled. Googling pretty much concludes that high FSH levels aren’t good. They are in fact bad, if one is interested in having babies. High FSH levels are often linked to lower ovarian reserve– my body is creating more of this hormone because it is trying even harder to produce viable eggs.

Because I’m an idiot, I googled this AT WORK. Sitting at my desk, I thought “Holy shit. I’m never going to have children, am I?” I felt all the blood drain from my face, and ran out the door. Luckily for me, there is a virus going around the office so it is perfectly normal to look like you might be about to puke. (In semi-related news, my mom went back into the ICU this morning with low CO2 levels. So I was already primed for a full-on shitshow.)

As I drove home weeping like the train wreck that I am, I tried to put this together. WTF?! I ovulate every month like a boss, or so my stupid OPKs have lead me to believe. I don’t have signs of PCOS– my periods are regular, and no cysts have ever come up on my test. I don’t *think* I’m pre-menopausal. And why the hell are they making me take this other test any way?

But mostly, I kept thinking “How am I going to tell Mr. O?” This is the worst possible thing I could ever say to him. I can’t believe I’m might be the person to break his heart. It is the last thing I have ever wanted to do.

I got home, began to google, then promptly shut down my laptop. Remember, kids: at times like this, Google is never your friend. EVER. Instead, I called Dr. Petrel’s office to talk to an actual medical professional. I was able to speak with a lovely nurse who talked me down off my ledge. Let’s call her Nurse Lovely Pants.

As she put it, FSH at my levels show that my body is working a bit harder to get pregnant. (She likened it to putting your foot on the gas. At this point in my cycle, I shouldn’t be accelerating quite this hard.) They look for levels below 15, and my levels are below that– just not as low as they normally see.

Since I’m young and fairly healthy, Lovely Pants is also less worried. (Funniest comment of the call: “I know you may not believe it, Ostrich, but you really are on the younger side.”) The Anti-Mullerian test is another way to look at my egg reserve. Having this information in addition to the FSH numbers will give us a better picture of what’s really going on in my ovaries.

Sweetheart that she is, Nurse Lovely Pants calmly told me that they see patients at their office all the time who do get pregnant with FSH levels like mine. (Best overall comment of the call: “That’s what we do in our office. We get women like you pregnant.”) It just means that they’ll likely advocate more strongly for IVF with my insurance company.

I’ve dialed back the mania a little bit. I’m down, but not out of this fight yet. Now that the tsunami of panic has passed, I’m just left with one outstanding question.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

To clarify, I’m asking “Why the hell is getting pregnant so damn hard for me?” That’s what is so frustrating about this stuff. There is no good reason for any of this. It’s just complete SHIT. FOR NO REASON. It’s illogical, but sadly in my case completely predictable. Honestly, if my doctor called me tomorrow and told me that she would have to amputate both my arms, I would think “Well, of course. When should we schedule the operation?”

But then, why even bother asking the question? There is no answer to it. There is no order. There is no waiting calmly in line until your number gets called. My parade just keeps getting rained on, and I’m running out of water resistance. BAH!

So Monday I go in for my sonohysterogram, and the Anti-Mullerian test. Wish me luck.

Because this is my life we’re talking about, expect more marginal test results and corresponding meltdowns.

Another CD1 = Another tussle with Incompetence

Posted on by thecommonostrich

I keep hoping that I’ll be able to avoid IVF and the accompanying headache of dealing with my insurance by, you know… getting pregnant. I seriously hate this company. Just over the weekend, I got a bill from an appointment I had well over a year ago. They claim that they sent the check to me, and not the doctor’s office. Which is horseshit. And another story.

If these winners screw up perfectly run of the mill visits, imagine the wonderland of stupidity that awaits me now!

When Dr. Petrel suggested we go straight to IVF, I was cautiously optimistic. When I spoke with someone at the Infertility Hotline, they said that they required 6 cycles of something before they would approve IVF. Since I took Clomid for 6 cycles, I should be all set.

[But before I go on, I would like to pause for a moment to share some interesting information shared with me by Dr. Petrel. In the state where I live, most insurance companies (all the biggies) have moved away from a set requirement before IVF. Why? Because they crunched the numbers and found that most patients ended up at IVF anyway. Pragmatically speaking, it didn’t make financial sense to pay for treatments that have a lower probability of working BEFORE approving the one that has a higher probability of working. Logical, yes? Alas, my employer contracts with an insurance company out of TEXAS. And Texas may be many things, but rational about women’s health issues is not one of them.]

Anyway, as I was saying before I interrupted myself… I thought it would be a good idea to call and make sure I understood exactly what Incompetence meant by 6 attempted cycles with Clomid. Does it have to be done with IUI? Does it have to be done with accompanied monitoring? What kind of monitoring? Was I required to jump up and down three times before every cycle began? Rub my abdomen with juniper berries on every full moon?

So I called last week. I was on the phone for 45 minutes before someone told me that a specialist would call me back in 4 business days. This is the exact same crap I heard last time. 3-5 business days? How is this a HOTLINE, if I can’t talk to anyone for 3-5 business days? And did I REALLY have to wait on the phone for 45 minutes, only to learn I have to wait another 4 days? REALLY?!

Because the universe likes to kick me in the metaphorical balls, I get my call back from the Infertility Hotline the same day as I get by period. Let’s add frustration and elevated blood pressure to my pile of weepiness, desperation, and disappointment, shall we?

The good news is yes, my cycles with Clomid do count. This makes me feel a little bit better about the Great Clomid Experiment. In its own way, it has served its purpose. I just need to get something from my GYN saying that he did prescribe it. And provide some kind of “proof” that I took the medication and monitored it (OPKs count.)

Erm… proof? I started to panic, thinking I needed to have saved all my spent OPKs. I’m a pack rat, sure. But I have to draw the line at hoarding discarded OPKs. I mean, I PEED on those things.

In a delightful move back to civility, my word for it is proof enough. So I pull up my apps, report the dates of positive OPKs and scheduled sexy time. For the last 6 months. As I’m sure you can imagine, this took some time– 30 minutes to be exact.

The woman I spoke with was actually nice. Granted I waited 4 days to speak with her, so I sure hope she’d be nice. After we went through all the dates, she said she would start processing it so that I could be approved for IVF (pending some FSH test, I think? I dunno, whatever I’m getting done this week.) I hung up from that conversation not actively annoyed.

But just when you’d think that this could end on a happy note, I’m now embroiled in another bit of drama with my insurance company. Some of you may recall that I’ve been seeing a counselor to help me cope with “My Life”, aka the never-ending cyclone of very bad things I’ve experienced in the last year. Dr. Macaw has been so helpful. But because of a clerical error at Incompetence, they’ve rejected her claims so I’ve had to stop seeing her. I cannot fix said clerical error, Dr. Macaw has to. And they are not returning her calls, or sending her the forms she needs. Why?

Because they are assholes.

I’ve been okay with not seeing Macaw for now, but this shit is going to get cray once IVF becomes more real. I’ve already had one solid freakout after a Google session. (Sorry, but Egg Retrieval does not sound like a good time.) As one lovely friend pointed out, this might have to do with my total aversion to hospitals and medical procedures, thanks to my mom’s health situation. I NEED to talk about this with a licensed professional, but I can’t do it if my insurance company keeps denying claims because their records are out of date (and they seem to refuse to update them.)

Suggestions on how to strong arm your insurance company into delivering the services that you pay for are welcome.

Sometimes Su Casa es Mi Casa

Posted on by thecommonostrich

Over the past several weeks, a few bloggers I follow have announced their pregnancies. (Seriously, there must be something in the water… and I’m clearly not drinking it.)

To be 100% honest, I have been over-the-moon excited every time. No lie.

I don’t mean to come off as self-righteous. Because for every pregnancy announcement, I’ve also read posts from non-pregnant infertiles who can’t take one more. And I get these folks too. Believe me, I understand that gnawing, aching feeling of being left behind. (Aside: Is this what prisoners feel like when their cellmates get released? Happy and sad at the same time?)

My motives are entirely selfish. Over the past year, I’ve seen so much mother fucking sadness that I’m done. From my mom’s health challenges, my father losing his mind to despair, my sister’s diagnosis, and my own soul-crushing infertility… My life has become a maelstrom of shit. One big swirling storm of TERRIBLE.

The way I see it, I need to celebrate joy any where I can find it. Or else I will turn into a hot, quivering mess of cynicism and hostility. If that means being grateful for a morning run, bring it on. If that means devouring an ice cream sandwich, I’ll take it. And if that joy is your pregnancy, I will shout it from the metaphorical rooftops, my friends.

So for the record, please do not feel the need to apologize for being pregnant. I’m so happy for you that I don’t have the words to describe it. Conversely, do not feel the need to apologize for feeling a tiny bit (or a shit ton) sad. I know that feeling. On my worst days, I am the physical embodiment of that feeling.

When it comes to IF, I don’t think there are any rules. We do whatever we can to get through it.

Relearning Hope

Posted on by thecommonostrich

This weekend, Mr. Ostrich and I went to the beach. I love the beach. He hates it. So we end up with one annual pilgrimage in summer where I thrash around in the waves, and Mr. O stoically applies sunscreen.  

We got to the beach early in the morning. That’s my favorite time to go, before the beach gets overrun. I enjoy the tranquility of the sun, the waves, and even the seagulls.

At some point in the day, the beach inevitably fills up. Angsty teens, families, drunken youth… that all starts to pile up around 11:00.

Right behind where Mr. O and I had set up, a group of about 5 young folk set up camp. By young folk, I would say they were in their mid 20’s. A couple in the group is getting married in February, so we all had to be regaled by the tedious details of their wedding. Ho-hum.

But then something caught my ear…

“So I’ll pull the goalie in June and we should get pregnant like *that*.”

The conversation continued, including what kind of child they wanted, how many, how far apart. Apparently, if this woman doesn’t have a “chill baby” (whatever that means), she will just freak out.

Miraculously, I did not laugh out loud.

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t cynical about their plans. Honestly the first thing that popped into my head was “I miss talking about my life with that much confidence.”

Because that is what struck me the most. The confidence they had that their lives would turn out according to plan. It sounded so ballsy.

Since then, I’ve thought a lot of myself at that age, and the kinds of plans I had when Mr. O and I first got married. Let the record show that NONE of those plans came true. (Okay, one. Mr. O and I are still happily married.) I’m mostly okay with that, because many of those were bad plans. Others, like starting a family, are still very precious to me.

I love the younger me who dared to have plans. I’ll even admit to missing that younger version of myself sometimes. In an effort to cope with the tidal wave of disappointment, the IF me stopped hoping.

I’ve grappled a lot with the idea of hope in regards to infertility. I have forgotten how to hope. And as I get ready for IVF, I’m trying to relearn that skill.

I also wonder if I’ll ever be able to sit on a beach, and plan my life without hesitation.

List of Questions for RE Consultation

Posted on by thecommonostrich

When I was preparing for my first consultation with my RE, I kept a whole list of questions to ask her. I organized them into thematic categories (because I’m a nerd like that…) Obviously, this list isn’t meant to be exhaustive. I may have focused on concerns that aren’t relevant to everyone. Lastly, this is absolutely a crowdsourced list. Thanks to all you ladies who offered suggestions!

In case anyone else out there is prepping for a similar appointment and is looking for some inspiration, have at it.

 

TESTING:
What diagnostic tests do you recommend?

What is the likelihood that each of these tests will establish a diagnosis?

How will this test or procedure affect my diagnosis and treatment plan?

Are there any risks associated with the testing?

Does my partner need additional testing?

Do you have concerns about egg quality? How do we determine that?

 

TREATMENTS:
What type of treatment would you recommend trying first based on our diagnosis? What are the risks of treatment?

If IUI, how many unsuccessful rounds would you recommend before moving to IVF?

In your practice, how often does this treatment result in pregnancy for our age group and diagnosis?

Are there any long-term complications associated with this or other treatments?

 

GENERAL/LIFESTYLE:
Are there any lifestyles changes that might help our chances of getting pregnant? Specifically how will this affect my running? (Because this is a really important thing for me. Obviously, this isn’t for everyone.)

In your opinion, how likely is fertility treatment to be successful for us?

Can someone in your office helps us estimate costs for the procedures?

Stress Much?

Posted on by thecommonostrich

My blood tests are back.  And they are GOOOOD!

All my various levels are within the realm of acceptable… With the exception of my monocyte levels.

What the hell are monocyte levels, you ask? According to Dr. Google, monocytes are a type of white blood cell that support our immune systems. If it is high, my body is fighting some shit, yes? Only I don’t have an infection or cold or anything. (That I am aware of. The Human Body is a great mystery, aka Lesson #1 of IF.)

Some of you may recall that my sister was recently diagnosed with two autoimmune diseases. Only, I had an ANA screen done a few weeks ago, and everything came back fine.  Still, what if my body is actually fighting itself?

Cue the freak-out death spiral.

I emailed my sister to ask if there were any additional tests I should ask for. It took a while for her doctors to reach her diagnosis, so I wanted to know if there was anything that I should just skip to now.

Lovely girl that she is, my sister told me to slow my roll. Did I mention that she is a psychiatrist? Not only does she have general medical knowledge, she can spot a brewing anxiety fest when she sees one. Every one should have one of these in the family.

Unless my monocyte levels are high for a prolonged period of time, this isn’t a big deal. But more specifically, she posited that I may be suffering from a depressed immune system because of stress. Turns out this is a real thing.

Harken back to the Great Clomid Experiment when I asked if Clomid can suppress your immune system, because I had had two colds over the course of two months. In the middle of summer. Totally weird for me.

Also, I’ve noticed that I have a harder time healing in general. I get exhausted so easily. It just seems like my body isn’t bouncing back as well.

But as my sister pointed out, I’m dealing with all the fallout from my mom’s medical issues, my dad being a complete wreck, and then my own infertility… That’s one big stress extravaganza!

Is it weird to say that I’m surprised? I honestly thought I was handling all this pretty well. I mean, I manage to be a functioning member of society. I still go to work every day. I exercise. I eat balanced meals. I organize my recycling into paper, plastic, and glass.

At this point, I’m not sure what else I can do to limit my stress. (OOooOO, I know, I know! Get pregnant! Only I’m not so foolish as to believe that won’t result in a whole other level of stress.)

Do I actually need to become a Tibetan monk? They seems so chill.

Moving on… With my test results back, we’re just waiting on Mr. O’s genetic tests. That’ll take longer to get, I suppose.

Patience is a Virtue, aka Lesson #2 of IF.

My Date with an RE

Posted on by thecommonostrich

So I just got back from my first appointment with my RE. And I love her. LOVE.

Dr. Petrel* is exactly what I was hoping she would be. She answered almost every question before I could ask it. The few I did outright ask, she answered truthfully– if even to say that she wouldn’t know until more tests were done. Dr. Petrel also kind of reminds me of my mom. If my mom were a straight-talking reproductive endocrinologist. I feel soooo much better.

Here’s what we covered:

1) Dr. Petrel isn’t recommending that we re-do tests, but she does want to do a few more. Because of Mr. O’s Eastern European and French-Canadian heritage, she wants to do some genetic testing on him. She also wants to do a Sonohysterogram and some additional blood work on me. But that’s it.

2) She is recommending that we go directly to IVF. Do not try IUI, do not collect $200. Basically, Dr. Petrel thinks we’ve done enough with Clomid. IUI isn’t likely to yield better results. The frugal side of me wants to be spending the most of our insurance max on the most expensive treatments, so I feel good about this. But it is sorta like jumping into the deep end. I will freakout about this more at a later date.

When I spoke with my insurance, they require 6 rounds of something before they’ll approve IVF. I really hope the Great Clomid Experiment counts. My friend at the Infertility Hotline said it would, but I want to double check. Because, you know… my insurance company sucks.

3) As long as all the additional tests come back in good shape, we’ll likely get down to business in October. I’m actually totally down with this. I’d like to do one more cycle without any medication- start off with a clean slate. I also have a half marathon in October, so I can train for it without worrying what that’s doing to my chances.

At the end of the appointment, Mr. O and I went to get our blood drawn for the tests. He had to get back to work, so he went in first. I went in afterwards. Without knowing we were together, they sat us right across from each other. And we started laughing. It was kind of nice, in a weird way. I mean, I guess it’s nice that we can still find things funny.

Afterwards, I hopped in the car and started to drive home. Keep in mind, I just had a good visit with the doctor (or at least not a miserable one.) But I was also coming down off that high and settling deep into “I can’t believe this is my life.” I’m trying to take this in stride, but let’s face it… that is a doctor’s appointment I never thought I’d need.

As I’m driving down the highway, I signal to merge into the next lane. I see a car in my rear view, but he is far enough away to see me coming. In the 10 seconds from when I saw the car to when I merged, this asshole is up on my tail and honking like he is on fire. Then, he speeds up along side my car and makes an obscene gesture. Next, he cuts me off.

For real, buddy… Nothing you’re doing is that important. If it were, you’d have a siren on top of your vehicle.  At first I was all “You ass hat, did you just come from an infertility clinic because you’ve been trying for over 2 YEARS to have a baby? No? I didn’t think so!” Then I realized I have no idea what he is going through. Maybe he just learned that his mansion burned down. Or his yacht sunk to the bottom of the ocean. (Yes, he was driving an expensive car. And yes, I’m making some terrible generalizations about older white men who drive nice cars.)

Basically, it was a good reminder that we have no idea what other people are going through. So if I need to extend a little compassion to another person today, I can do that.

*Not her real name. You know the drill…