Nine women receive womb transplants http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-25716446
IVF success rate ‘could be doubled’ http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-25438535
A couple days ago I celebrated a birthday – yay for me! But then I thought to myself: Where the hell did the year go? Oh Ya! Then I remembered… the year was spend in Doctor’s offices, laying on cold tables, getting stuck with needles, exposing my nether parts and under sedation. This could sound very depressing to some people but I’ve decided that it sounds more like the lifestyle of a pretty hot Hollywood party girl. So I didn’t spend my year drudging through IVF – I spend it basking in the lifestyle of the rich and famous 🙂
How’s that for looking on the brightside?
Love Author M
Life keeps getting in the way of blogging! But I decided to start making some time. Like a pre-new years resolution. So to start off I’m getting back to my timeline. I have many many months to get through.
In November of last year, after seeing the fertility doc and completing the obligatory visits to the lab vampires I was scheduled for the dreaded hysterosalpingogram a.k.a the HSG. Recently a friend of mine had to go through one as well – she asked me how bad it was and I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a painful and humiliating procedure and she should consider running the other direction… so instead I told her: “it’s not so bad!”. She wasn’t shy about calling me out on my lie after her procedure.
Way back then, last Novembr when the good doctor told me what was involved I immediately started plotting a panic attack in my head. I would have to go to the hospital where they would stick a long skinny catheter up my cervix and into my uterus. After this they would inject a bunch of dye and take pictures of my innards to make sure everything was open and normal in appearance. This sounded God awful.
Despite the fact that I am a doctor, I will admit I am every gynecologist’s worst nightmare. I believe speculums were made as instruments of torture by a sadistic male gynecologist who truly hated women. I believe he twisted his mustache and cackled as he created this torture device. Yes, I am aware speculum exams and pap smears have reduced the incidence of cervical cancer in the modern world but can’t we find a better way to do that with all this technology we have now? The HSG was like someone telling me I was going to have the supersized version of a PAP smear. Panic, panic, panic.
Lucky for me, God and a good pharmacist created something that would help me survive the HSG and many other uncomfortable things in life – Valium. Good old reliable valium – my trusty friend, the crutch I could lean on, my happy happy pill.
We arrived at the hospital the day of the procedure and took the elevator all the way down to the lower basement – same direction as hell. How appropriate. I put on my pretty blue hospital gown and did the death march towards a makeshift waiting room where my husband was waiting for me. It was there I gulped down the valium and waiting with anticipation.
About 30 minutes of waiting later (the doc was running late) – I didn’t have a care in the world. And suddenly…timber! My head crashed onto my husband’s shoulder. That valium – it’s like magic. I tried to convince him with slurred speech that I was still extremely anxious and that I needed more valium. Good thing he had his wits about him, another dose of valium and I would have been snoring on the floor.
My name was finally called and there started the death march anthem in my head again. Dead girl walking (a kind of crooked walk thanks to my buddy Valium), down the dark hall towards for my not-so lethal injection of dye into my uterus. Once in the room my feelings about the procedure were not made any more comforting. There was a metal slab of a table I was told to lie on. This really was like death!! I kept thinking – more valium. Need more valium.
The procedure itself was fast but hateful and I was a hot squirmy mess. Bright side: it was normal. So my husband dragged my sleepy ass home and I slept the afternoon away.
Surely the next procedure would be less painful… right? I should know I am always wrong about these things.
I heard an interesting story the other day. A friend of mine found out she was pregnant, without much trying even though she is in her mid 30s. Of course she is relieved and ecstatic that it happened this way – she has numerous friends who have not had it as easy. Although 99% of people she told were thrilled for her, others decided to give their unsolicited “advice” instead of their congratulations. One person told her that she should be careful, now she was going to lose a lot of friends because they would be mad and jealous that she got pregnant easily. Apparently that person had lost some friends that way so assumed my friend would suffer the same fate. When she announced she was having a boy, another person told her to be careful because people want boys and would be jealous of her fortune.
Here’s what I say: these people offering her these myths should be careful because they’ve got crappy friends. As a person who has suffered through the fun of infertility can I say I’m allowed to be jealous? Absolutely. Should I say that I have every right to be envious? Hell yes. How about that I wish it would have happened that way for me? Of course! But she is my friend and has been my friend for years. So you know what? I am thrilled for her because I don’t wish the journey of infertility treatments on anyone! I am happy that she was spared and has gotten her miracle. Of course I joke about my wrath and green eyed thoughts but at the end of the day – that IVF shit sucks, but I can take it so better you not deal with it too if you don’t have to.
Jealousy, envy – they are allowed. However throwing voodoo thoughts someone’s ways are not going to help me in any way.
That’s my blog post – first one in a million weeks.
Love Author M
Well officially worst bloggers ever – we haven’t posted a thing for oh I don’t know… weeks to be kind. But then I saw this and had to share. How appropriate that something that sounds so painful could be added to the already torturous IVF process. Sigh.
A more personal blog to come soon, promise.
It was early winter 2012 when I walked into this sterile looking clinic and boy was I feeling like a reject. I had a dysfunctional reproductive cycle. How embarrassing. None of my family members had this problem – they wished a baby and got a baby. Or at least that’s the way it went for them in my head. At least for this first appointment my husband was able to come with me for some moral support.
The moment we got in I was handed some papers, normal operating procedure for a new patient of course. I kept flipping the pages over and over again. Following my “new patient” forms was a TEN PAGE questionnaire delving into the deep recesses of my medical and sexual history that would assist my doctor to finding the reason for my inability to get knocked up. It was called the “American Society for Reproductive Medicine – Infertility History Form”. Appropriately long name for a long form.
For those of you who have been to a similar office of shame you may know this form and all it’s glory.
They start you off easy – “What’s your name? What’s your date of birth? When was your last period?”. I could handle that.
Page two began with a genius question: “What are your expectations for this visit?” I was tempted to answer this question with one word: Seriously?!!! What the hell do you think my expectations are? To come here for shits and giggles? For God’s sakes it doesn’t take a genius to know my expectations are for you people to get me a baby in my belly stat stat.
Soon came the next section that had me squirming around in my seat. Several questions about our sex life came up and stared up at me waiting to be answered.
How many times a week do you have sex? Do you use lubricant? Does it hurt you to have sex?
Wasn’t this kind of personal? I’m a pseudo-prude and questions on my sexual escapades made the sweat glands in my armpits flare up.
After several more questions regarding my health and the health of every family member who shares genes with me, came my consolation prize. Two pages of the “male medical history”. These questions were fun and it was my hubby’s turn to squirm.
Do you have retrograde ejaculation of sperm into the bladder? I don’t know how the hell that would happen but apparently it’s a thing. And it’s a thing that sounds incredibly gross.
Did you have mumps after puberty? Mumps? Who the hell gets mumps these days? That’s not in fashion anymore.
Are you exposed to prolonged heat in the workplace? Do you use hot tubs regularly? Who knew the hot tub myth was true!!! No more hot tubs for the hubby. And I decided we were going to turn on the air conditioner all year long.
After 30 minutes of filling out forms we still weren’t done. So the first thing my doctor could see from our form filling out all those forms – was that we were not good at filling out forms quickly. Good thing that’s not an absolute requirement for being pregnant or raising a kid.
That’s it for now! To the next update….
Love Author M