Inside the head of a reproductively-challenged space cadet.
I forgot to post this last evening for the full Ring Fashion Show, so here goes. The RING.
A lovely Tanzanite and Platinum Mr. Drab Original. He had it made especially for me, based on a picture I saw in a magazine once. It is periwinkle blue with a fat stripe of magenta down the middle and a touch of aquamarine on one end. I am not a "diamond girl", I figure for the cost of a clear stone you can have a BIG colored stone. I love my ring.
I spoke to someone today. Two someones in fact.
Someone #1: The nurse at my Ob/Gyn's office. She told me my u/s results. I have two MASSIVE cysts on my right ovary. BIG. And that is bad enough. But irritating those two cysts are my Three Fibroid Pals (I call them Lemmy, Vyvyan and Frank) who are not just still present but have GROWN.. considerably. In fact, Lemmy grew 200% since last year. Yeah. Great. "Not a nuisance" my tart arse.
She said, and I quote, "WOW, no WONDER you were in such pain!!"
To which I replied, "Yeah, no kidding, huh? Please fax my medical records to ___, because you're fired."
Someone #2: The nurse at my RE #1's office. She is a doll. I had some complaints about the RE because she kept trying to rush me into IVF, which I was not then nor am now ready for, and because she had run out of ideas on testing. I told the nurse my saga of the last year and the most recent events (to which she said, "Keep calling them. Hound the HELL out of them. Demand answers NOW." That's why I love her.)
When I told her of RE#2's discoveries of the possible septum and the recent findings of the Three Fibroid Pals' activities, she agreed that I should have my hysteroscopic surgery. Soon. As soon as my period arrives, I am to call and set up the appt for day 6. That's in two weeks, my dear friends. *snap, snap* Muy pronto.
Now, THAT'S service.
...but I pretend to be since my real doctors tend to suck ass.
So I was thinking about "worst-case scenarios" last night. And sure, appendicitis IS the worst thing this side aching could be to any normal person, but to ME salpingitis is the worst thing. I feel the need to protect what grain of fertility I have left, at all costs.
So I was perusing my ample medicine cabinet pharmacy.
And I found the amber bottle of dreams. It was a bottle of Amoxicillin that my allergist thought I needed last month. I didn't take any of them, but stored it in my pharmacy cabinet, just in case...
Well, I decided to start taking them. Just in case.
I am not an advocate for storing antibiotics or for self-administering them. But of that list of possibilities for my diagnosis, half would be treated with them. So what the hell. It will at least tide me over until they can get off their fatcat asses and tell me what's wrong.
NOTE: FYI, I am one of the biggest vocalizers of conscientious antibiotic administration. I believe they are over-distributed and way-too-often abused. That's why we have mega-bugs and so many things that are antibiotic resistant. For me to do this means FEAR and PAIN.
The reason I am not in the ER is because we've been there too often, and every time we go, my suck insurance won't cover it and we get chopped to shreds by the bills. So I have to play ball with this doctor, like it or not. Doesn't mean I can't defend myself with what I've got.
UPDATE
Scary thing. Since I've been taking antibiotics, the pain is subsiding. And I am seeing RED. I will be calling the useless doctor today to report my findings.. and to demand to know what they are going to do about this. I cannot even FATHOM how irresponsible their thoughts were. I should have IMMEDIATELY (as in WEDNESDAY!!!) had a pelvic exam and a blood test for infection. I am seething. I swear that if any iota of my remaining fertility has been harmed, they are going to understand wrath.
Here's what I had in mind:
Me: "I hurt on my right side. Please help me."
Doctor: "Your pain is our top priority. We wouldn't want you to suffer needlessly! Please come in IMMEDIATELY and we will check you out top to bottom until we find out what is wrong."
(one hour later)
Doctor: "TADA!! Here it is!! Ok, take this pill and you will be better."
Me: "Yay!!"
What happened:
Me: "I hurt on my right side. Please help me."
Indifferent receptionist: "Yeah, I have to take your number and leave a message for the nurse to call you back..."
(four hours later I call..)
Me: "I still hurt. Please help me."
Modestly indifferent receptionist: "Please hold."
(ten minutes later...)
Nurse: "Do you have a fever?"
Me: "No."
Nurse: "If you develop a fever, go to the ER. In the meantime I will call in something to help you and will have someone call you back to schedule an appointment." *click*
(I run up to the pharmacy)
Me: "MUSCLE RELAXERS???!!! It's not my MUSCLE that hurts!" *take one anyway*
(Two hours later)
Scheduler: "Yeah, we have an appointment for an ultrasound tomorrow at 3pm."
Me: "...*gurgle*..."
INTERMISSION
(Next morning)
Me: "Ow."
(3pm)
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "Ok, we're going to do both types of ultrasound. So no you can't go pee."
Me: "OW OW OW!!!"
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "............."
Me: "See anything?"
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "............."
Me: "You've been down there a long time."
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "............. *nose twitch*"
Me: "It's cancer, isn't it?"
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "............."
Me: "............"
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "Ok, all done. Go change clothes and wait for me here."
(I do as commanded.)
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "Check with your doctor in 2-3 days for your results. Goodbye."
Me: "Goodbye???? What? Why? Who? Whah?"
Bitchy ultrasound tech: "If it gets worse, go to the ER."
Me: "Dammit."
So now I just wait and hope that I don't have to go to the ER. Funny thing. ER is RE backwards. Hm.
I feel insane today.
I called my doctor yesterday to report this agony in my right side. Her nurse gave me diagnosis options, all of which sound great:
1. Appendicitis
2. Ovarian cyst
3. Endometriosis
4. Infection of the ovaries/tubes
5. Fibroid growth, pressing on ovaries
6. Intestinal infection
So today I still hurt, but no fever. In the meantime I am grumpy and manic. I am assuming it has something to do with the pain and fear. But I feel CRAZY. The guy in the office next door was having a powwow with fellow right-wingers and their conversation was mean-spirited and "pick on the lefties". I could not concentrate, I could not focus, I felt this Mt. Vesuvius of anger welling up about to erupt in hot molten crazy all over the place. I stood up and said "I CAN'T TAKE THIS. NOT TODAY," and slammed my door shut.
I am waiting for a call back from the nurse, with my next directions.
Well, while I am impatiently waiting for a new appointment for a hysteroscopy, things have started to happen. Things that aren't comfortable. Things that have me once again worried and asking myself... now what? Here's how it went down:
Hormona: Hey Infertile, what's shakin'?
The Infertile: I feel like hammered hell. Back off.
Hormona: Oooh, someone ovulated from the wrong follicle this morning.
The Infertile: Get snogged.
Hormona: No really. Tell me. If you can't talk to your hormones who can you talk to?
The Infertile: Fine. First, I have had cramping since cycle day 12. For no apparent reason. Strong enough to warrant engaging the Shield of +2 Naproxen.
Hormona: Heavenly Bounty of Oreos! That sucks.
The Infertile: Yeah, so then I had been thinking I hadn't ovulated yet. I couldn't get a stable reading on the thermometer in the mornings. It kept fluctuating. Meanwhile, I have a stiff pain in my right side... ovulation-type pain. But I am at cd19 today. I've never had this late ovulation before.
Hormona: Holy Sausage on a Stick! I bet it is endometriosis. Or appendicitis. Ooh, it might be a tumor.
The Infertile: You aren't helping. And enough with the food references.
Hormona: Right.
The Infertile: And this morning, the temps were high. Indicating perhaps I would have already spit out a wasted egg, and yet the pain is worse.
Hormona: So what the hell is going on NOW?
The Infertile: Exactly. I guess I will call The Doctor and get to the bottom of this.
Hormona: Well, while you are trying to figure it out, I am going to be over here getting drunk and smashing up stuff, k?
The Infertile: Do whatcha gotta do.
I decided to paint my bathroom Tibetan Red today. Baaaaaaaad choice. The color looks awesome. It will be super great when I finish.
WHEN I finish.
So far, I have gone through an entire gallon of paint and will need a 2nd can tomorrow. I can't seem to make the colors even, there are streaks and lines all over the wall. There is red everywhere. Red on the baseboards, red on the floor, red on the ceiling, red on my jeans, in my hair, on Lola's kinky tail. RED EVERYWHERE!!!!
But wow, what a stunning shade of red. I feel so brave.
Ollie loves Halloween. And NOT just for the candy. Shut up.
I like dressing up in costumes. It is a right hoot, I tell ya. I years past, I have been a bitchin' Bride of Frankenstein, The Bowler from Mystery Men, and I have a few ideas for this year.
1) THE INFERTILE--I really only have to add the cape and mask and voila.
2) The Infertile Bride of Frankenstein (complete with ill-fitting clothing)
3) PMS Monster (very scary)
4) Auntie Flo (scary mask and bad dye job)
5) The Crazy Cat Lady (oh wait, that's not a costume)
6) Zombie (in the spirit of Shaun of the Dead, Resident Evil and how I feel most of the time these days)
7) The Mean Lady Who Calls The Truant Officer and Doesn't Let the Neighbor Kids Talk About The Devil In Her Yard
8) The Baby Dust Bitch
And that's where I run out of ideas.
Cycle day 12. Still waiting on a call from Ob/Gyn. She's due back in town today, from her whooptee doo seminar in Whoknowswhere, USA. I jump every time the phone rings... Sadly it's only rung once and that was work-related.
So I need things to keep my mind occupied so I don't choke and attempt to TTC this month. I just hate waste, ya know?
UPDATE
I just spoke with someone from my Ob/Gyn's office.
"Hi, I was letting you know I spoke to your RE and it looks like we will be scheduling your hysteroscopy for mid to late November, depending on your cycle."
Let's do a little Ollie math, shall we?
This current cycle is slated to end somewhere around Oct. 30. Yes, yes, there are jokes in my head about the witch arriving in time for Halloween. Back to the topic. This means that the next cycle, NOVEMBER's cycle, would end somewhere around Nov. 30.
Hysteroscopy must be performed between cycle days 6-11.
November 30 + cd 6-11=December 6-11
December 7-11=Ollie is going to NYC for a conference.
Hysteroscopy stands a pretty good chance of being bumped until January.
January=Anniversary of 3 years TTC
January=Due date of my most recent pregnancy [loss]
January=Suck.
Ok, MAYBE a plan of action is in the works.
I spoke to Dr. Frenchie, as he was being channeled through his nurse. I described my flabbergastion over the cost of this procedure, as "if you could see my face right now, you'd run screaming."
She (the nurse) told me that the doctors like to have control of the procedures themselves for all their IVF patients.
Yes, ok, we covered that already. I am still not an IVF patient, contrary to what you might believe Nurse Lady.
Then she hung up, promising to call me back directly after speaking with Monseiur Doctor.
So the return call came. The options I had laid out before me were as follow:
1) Dr. Frenchie performs the procedure as planned, I spend an arm and a leg.
2) I opt for a different procedure that doesn't show nearly enough, is basically just an ultrasound, and costs a mere arm, and gets me only 40% of the information we need.
3) I ask (read: beg, plead) my regular Ob/Gyn to perform the procedure in place of Dr. Frenchie, and hope that helps the insurance demons to agree to pay part or all (HAHAHAHAHA...all *wipes eyes*) of the cost.
4) Oh yeah, and I go run to my former RE. I am not sure I'd really like to do that though. We left on poor terms.
So far, Ob/Gyn hasn't called me back yet. I am waiting.....
UPDATE: Ob/Gyn is out of the office until Tuesday. Folks, this cycle is a bust. Perhaps better luck next month. *grumble*
Where's that box of frickin' cookies?
I am bummed out.
I just spoke with the billing dept for Dr. Frenchie. Turns out my suck-ass insurance won't pay for ANY of Friday's procedure. None, nada, zip. And the cost is a pretty hefty sum. A sum I am not willing to pay if I do not have to, ESPECIALLY considering this will likely be the first of three procedures: Explorative, Corrective & Follow-Up. Corrective being three-four times the cost of the Explorative.
Now this doesn't mean "no hysteroscopy for me". But it does mean that I will be putting it off a while longer. Long enough to pick up the phone and talk to RE#2.
"Hey there..It's me."
"What do you want?"
"Listen, that other doctor means nothing to me. I know now it is you that can bring me through this. Not HIM."
"Mmmhmmm. Sure. And what makes me think you won't up and run off with the Frenchman again?"
"Awww, come on. I promise."
So I will go back to the old dr. The one who I did like, in spite of her gawdawful staff. I will have the procedure through her, as she is on my insurance and the costs will be minimal. After that, I can go back to Frenchie if I so choose.
In the meantime, I feel a dramatic pause.
I hate that I have become so accustomed to bad news following good news that I neglect to notice when it is just good news. I got the results back from my hormone blood tests yesterday. "Normal". But then the nurse HAD to add, "the numbers for your FSH are normal but they did slightly increase since your last test."
So what do I do? Naturally I begin to lose my composure, possibly hurting good friends in a situation where this is too close to home. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. In my three years since we started this madness of trying to conceive, good news inevitably follows with bad news.
"Hey, you're pregnant! ... but oh, the numbers aren't climbing like they should."
"Oh look! A gestational sac! ...but oh, chances are you will miscarry."
"Your results are normal! ....but oh, actually they are borderline, and we need to treat you."
It gave me a kneejerk reaction. I now EXPECT bad news, I HEAR bad news when they are saying "good news". I cannot seem to help it. I just don't expect good things out of this body these days. I expect to always be the girl with the red puffy face, the one who leaves the doctor's office crying, hoping no one else in the waiting room, or the hallway, or the parking deck, or at the eternal redlight on the corner, sees me. I've been her, too many times. Now, like a Pavlov's experiment, I hear "good news" and start crying.
So what do I do with this new information? I am going to try to take it at face value. I am going to accept this as something to check off the list. I am going to apologize for the insensitivity that might have hurt feelings of those in a situation where the shoe DID drop.
...and then I am going to regroup. Because I am not out of the clear yet. I still have Friday to worry about, and that's a whole new set of shoes.
The girl walked through the maze of halls, her mind swimming. Doors everywhere. Her black wedge heels clicked on the glossy tile floors. Which was room #340?
Overhead, a fluourescent bulb flickered off and on, casting inconsistent shadows along the corridor. It upset her eyes, much the way of a disco strobelight. Through the chaos, the door appeared at the end of the hall. A reflection of the single spotlight shone onto the plaque that read "Reproductive Associates, Room 340". It was a beacon of light in the dark hallway. She turned the knob.
Ashen faces looked up as she entered the room. A nervous couple fidgeted with their respective neutral-topic magazines, pretending that they were in control. Another couple held each other's hand, both staring at the same spot on the floor. Many feigned disinterest, but the unspoken questions floated around as if they were solid. "I wonder what this one is here for, I wonder what he/she/they are here for." They all knew the basics. Fertility trouble. No matter how you arranged it. The desired result was always the same: get baby, keep baby. There was also a mutual sigh of relief at the sign in thick black letters: "No children allowed in the waiting room."
The door swung open. Couple #1 was beckoned deeper into the recesses of the office. The rest wondered what they were in for. Would it be the day that couple finds out their IVF was a success? ...Or a failure? Would it be a consultation? Would it be something worse, more ominous? A woman passed them, on her way out of the office. Her face was swollen red and she clutched the wad of tissues in her right hand, her purse in the other. Bad news. Very bad. The collective unspoken thought pool said, "I don't want to be her."
Moments later, the door swung open again. Her name was called and she stood and faced the vampire in baby blue scrubs. They love to extract blood, these vampires. The titilation comes from the extraction rather than consumption of another's blood. The girl's veins throbbed before she even sat in the medieval chair.
The rubber band went around her arm and she was asked to hold the ironically cheerful sponge. It was shaped like a vial of fertility drugs but had a ridiculously grinning cartoon face. The brand was worn off from the countless numbers of women who clutched the sponge while praying and wishing that these tests would tell them what they wanted... needed to hear. She was no different.
Please, she thought, please let my day 3 hormone tests return normal.
