Wednesday, December 5, 2012

meet and greet


(Some of you have asked for more of the back-story. And since pleasing you is whatIgetpaidthebigbucksfor!, here goes.)

Way back in October of this year[1], we had our first meeting with the reproductive endocrinologist or, for those in the know, the “RE.” So me and C left work early and met on a secluded beech for a romantic nooner in a drab office building, in a waiting room full of other nervous but tryingsohardnottolooknervous couples, along with the requisite back issues of Star Magazine (point, Sarah!). I was probably sweating profusely through nice business attire and C was probably being all blasé and calm cause you know, he still hasn’t had to actually do anything (except of course, try, and there were no complaints there).

So in we went. The RE seemed like a pretty affable guy: he shook our hands (obviously, he and C did their secret doctor handshake exchanged a bunch of medical words I didn’t understand just to show off), he offered us mints, and later, when I started crying for no apparent reason (for every reason!) he offered us me tissues and assured us that he goes through at least a box a day.

And then there was this. Honestly, this little nugget was worth the price of admission. My reproductive endocrinologist smartly endeared himself to my reality-tv-loving-soul when he casually told me the back-story on Jon and Kate Plus 8. (Don’t even for a second suggest that he uses this story on every hapless, teary eyed, infertile lady patient. No. He knew this would mean something to me.) Ahem. Where was I?

The RE’s tale was one of intrigue! betrayal! the-importance-of-heeding-the-truth-of-the-transvaginal-ultrasound! Okay fine. I think the scientific explanation went something like this: Kate was on Clomid. Kate came in for her regular wanding[2]. Doctor told Kate “you have too many follicles! Do not have sex! It is not safe! You will have too many babies!” Kate said, to hell with you, doc! *visions of plastic surgery and a life without Jon TLC paychecks danced in her eyes.* END SCENE!

There was a point here, yes? Oh. Right. We left this visit with some very important information. Mostly, that there would be a lot of blood drawing, wanding, MRI-ing and even some iodine-dye-ing in my future. In short, it was time to start the work-up. And boy were we excited (and also NAÏVE. Very, very naïve.) 




[1] So by now, logical-thinking-human-reader, you’ve probably realized that these initial blogs aren’t exactly written in real time (and if you didn’t realize, it’s okay. It wasn’t backinoctober obvious.) I'm trying my best to catch up quick. Until then, let’s all just pretend we’re in a time machine, shall we. Very well then.
[2] Because writing out transvaginal ultrasound is… cumbersome. And less funny.

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