The huge envelope arrives from arrives from Yawkey 10. It has enormous health questionnaires and even a rather spiffy DVD (I don’t watch it). I set about filling in all the forms which is really tricky because now I am forced to talk to my mother-in-law about that side of the DNA. She seems pleased, but cautious, and actually doesn’t lecture me – maybe when we finally have a baby I will let her be involved. The easy part however is Robert’s family is tiny with not too much exciting happening. It takes all of a page and a half to do a family history.
Then there is my huge family full of people who unlike me get pregnant just by sitting on a toilet seat (seriously), and they want history up to third degree relatives. My family history reads like a novel with various weird and wonderfuls like the cousin with AML, the one who was diagnosed with Langerhan’s as an adult, the one with the pituitary thing going on (who is also a bit crazy), the one with Fallot’s and the random craziness that seems to infiltrate certain branches of my family tree.
All of this when all I really want is an idea about what to do with the fibroids? At this point I am still firmly convinced that assisted reproduction is not in my future anytime soon. We’ll get rid of those pesky fibroids and then we’ll have a baby. Simple as that. But as I have already pointed out I am an oncology nurse, I nothing about reproductive medicine. I hated ob-gyn in nursing school and even thought childbirth was quite gruesome.
I decide to leave Robert at home for the first appointment; after all at this point it is all about me and my rebellious uterus. Dr. Styer is a total charmer. I even check out his left hand sizing up dating potential for single friends. Damn – wedding ring. I hand him my health essays – shrug and point out that OCD has some benefits – I keep great records and am a really good historian. Dr. Styer is also very pro-active I get a PAP smear and an ultrasound and an insurance referral for the assisted reproduction that I am still convinced I won’t need. The ultrasound and PAP are a little embarrassing as I had a “panty hose accident” a few days ago resulting in a nice abrasion/bruise on the top of my thigh. He of course asks how that happened. I glance at the medical assistant who I have already told about it and say:
“Nothing glamorous like kinky sex, just a very dull panty hose accident”
I get a laugh, but I also get orders for a whole bunch of labs on Day 3 of my next cycle and for a hysterosonogram on Day 6.
Why the invasive procedure? Seems my uterus is indeed being rebellious – one of the fibroids is making the shape all wrong. If it wasn’t for the fact that I am in stirrups with a vaginal probe insitu I would have hugged him. He actually tells me that this may have caused the miscarriage. After 2 and ½ years of “Don’t worry. These things happen” this is an incredible relief. Someone is actually listening to me.
Needless to say I leave his office feeling comforted and relaxed that everything will be okay.
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