Archives For Health

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.

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

Author M: There go my chances for breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed

It’s been a while since I’ve gone back to my timeline.  Since Author S took the first brave step and told part of her story I thought it was time for me to buck up and do the same.   Can’t be the wuss in this duo of bloggers.  So it’s my turn to suck it up and open up.

So remember my grand plan?  To do the deed once or twice during days 10-20 using the trusty ovulation strips to have our planned oops??  Well if that worked this website would not exist.

We did our do diligence –

Day 1:  get period.

Day 2:  Drink through the disappointment.

Day 10:  Start peeing on ovulation sticks.

Day 10-20:  Do the deed whenever possible.

Day 28:  Pee on pregnancy test…. and cry.  Go back to the beginning.

Day 1:  Get Period.

Those damn Day 1’s kept on coming.  And by early November it had been 10 months since we pulled the goalie and our strategy for an empty net had failed to help us score.  I was 3 weeks away from that big scary age of 35.  And another month gone by that our oops never happened.

Sometimes you just know yourself and your body and I knew my oops wasn’t coming.  No other way to explain it – I just knew I needed an “evaluation”.  I’m no gynecologist but I’m a doctor with access to doctor type materials so I read the guidelines:  the fancy instructions tell you that if you’re less than 35 you should see a fertility specialist after a year of trying.  If you’re over 35 you get some help after 6 months of trying.  Well I was 34.9 years of age so I figured 10 months was ok to at least talk to my Gyne about seeing a specialist and asking some questions.

So one day, as we lay in bed last November I nervously started a conversation with my husband.  Maybe It was time to stop closing our eyes and crossing our fingers hoping and/or planning for that oops.  What if something was wrong?  Usually I’m a spaz and his job is to tell me I’m overreacting.  Except this time he agreed I was right.  I called my OB – time to get the netherlands checked.

Stay tuned – this story is just beginning.

Love Author M

Here’s the disclaimer for this post:  We really do love our mothers.  And one day we hope to be as wonderful and annoying to our children as they are to us.

Growing up, we were clueless so we looked up to our mothers for comfort and advice.  Somehow, mom always knew what to say to set things right. And if she didn’t have the right words, she would inevitably offer food as a means of comfort.  Later on as teenagers, we continued to listen to our moms, perhaps partially out of habit, even though we didn’t always like what they had to say.  Still they were often right when our juvenile emotions led to stupidity.

Then – you get older and you grow a brain and start to think for yourself.  Suddenly, Mommy’s words of wisdom are sometimes not as “Money” as they used to be.  You realize although she was the master of life advice when you were 10, some of the pearls now offered are a little out of date.  In addition you realize much of her advice is not quite based on scientific fact and be may coming from an alternate universe (or from early onset dementia).  This realization is further amplified when you grow up to be a doctor and your mother tries to give you medical advice that she swears is the cure for all your body’s problems.

But nonetheless we are good daughters and listen to Mommy’s advice over the phone, and offer our “Yes you’re Right”‘s and “Uh-huh”‘s to them, all the while practicing our eye rolls and make finger guns to our heads on the other end of the line.

Our Mother’s combined have offered us much advice on what we can do to create a fetus or why it’s taking too long to create a fetus.  We’ve decided to share this wealth of advice to all of you so may also employ it in your quest for mommyhood.  And if you’re not trying to be a mommy then share it with your friends who are. Or just share it because it’s hilarity.  These tidbits of love from our Mothers will be read much more enjoyably if you read the below mother statements with an Indian accent…

“This is because you do all that crazy exercising”  (You mean the 20 minutes I do on level 1 on the elliptical is killing my eggs?  Yes I better stop because I hear obesity is good for fertility)

“This is because you don’t take it easy.  You don’t have to go out with your friends for dinner you can stay home and rest”  (Yes, you’re right.  Getting in my car, walking into a restaurant, sitting on my ass and stuffing my face is probably a lot of stress on my uterus). 

“This is because you do all that dieting you should eat more”  (But wait then shouldn’t I go out to dinner with my friends more and eat shitty food?  This is confusing)

“This is because you do too much heavy lifting.  You should stop vacuuming”  (Ummm, ok thanks good idea.  I’ll send you the bill for the cleaning lady)

“Are you sure that the dog isn’t preventing you from getting pregnant.” (Yes the dog must be kicking me in the uterus while I’m not looking.  Better drop him off at the humane society stat.)

“You just need to relax and let it happen”.  (There’s that word again – relax.  YOU RELAX DAMNIT!! )

“You need to stop obsessing about getting pregnant then it will happen”  (But you’ve only been asking for a grandchild since the first day I got married!  You’ve planted the seeds of my obsession!)

“If you do this prayer and do this ceremony then it will happen” (Maybe… but first I gotta find a temple.  Can’t you do it for me Mommy?  And while you’re at it make me some Indian food?  Please?). 

“Next time you need a procedure I’m going to come to the Doctor’s office and I want to talk to him.  And then you have to rest I’m going to stay with you for a week or you come home to our place for a week.”  (OMG NO.  You just told me to relax – this would not happen with this plan. That and I think my doctor will hate me for being trapped in a room with my Mommy answering an hour’s worth of questions I already know the answer to).

God bless our Moms they are so sweet for caring about our uteri.  We love them dearly.  But we’re gonna leave the babymaking and pregnancy advice to our Doctors and the all knowledgeable Google.

Till next time!

Love Authors S & M

Me:  Hi there – what brings you in today?  

Patient:  I feel like I’m having pain “down there” and I feel nauseas and I have heartburn.  Sometimes it feels like there is a ball down there that’s moving around. 

Me in my head:  Yes idiot it’s called being pregnant and your baby is moving. This is a good thing. 

Me:  What number pregnancy is this for you?  How far along are you?

Patient:  Almost 18 weeks. This is my 5th pregnancy…  Hey Doc –  Do you think I’m just feeling all these symptoms because my last 2 pregnancies I smoked pot and didn’t notice these things?

Me in my head:  This bitch is on her 5th pregnancy and I’m working on pregnancy # zero.  My stethoscope is accidentally gonna fly into her face. 

Things That Make Author M Angry: Stupid Patients

As mentioned in our last post, after a night out at the local tavern we thought:  why are ovulation strips so freaking annoying?  Who created these stupid things?  All this time spent in the bathroom, wouldn’t it be so much more fun to have your answer presented to you in a more enjoyable format?  Something we as women can all relate to?  So we made a list of our brilliant ideas of something we call our “Ovulation Fun Strips”.

Earlier this week we turned some of our ideas into visuals for your entertainment… as in we drew them out for you… with pen and markers. Yes it’s true – we are 30-something-year-old ladies who sat at a cafe and created “drawrings” of our ideas for 90 minutes, laughing crazily while doing it and disturbing other patrons.  But we’re at peace with this.  And we’re ready to share our genius ideas and our artistic talents.

Idea #1.   Green light means:  GO TIME.

Green light means GO.  Red Light means NO.

Green light means GO. Red Light means NO.

Idea #2:  Watch the Thumbs

Two Thumbs Up for Ovulating.  An unfortunate negative review for Not Ovulating

Two Thumbs Up for Ovulating. An unfortunate negative review for Not Ovulating

Idea #3:  Play the Slots

Ovulating = the Sexytime Jackpot.   Not Ovulating = your prize is a good night's sleep!  Zzzzz

Ovulating = the Sexytime Jackpot.
Not Ovulating = your prize is a good night’s sleep! Zzzzz

Idea #4:  Cannonball!!!

Egg deployed from Cannonball means Ovulating.  Humpty Dumpty on the Right means you're too late.

Egg deployed from Cannonball means Ovulating.
Humpty Dumpty on the Right means sorry, you’re too late.

Idea #5:  Bedtime Activities

Ovulating = Time to get down.  Not Ovulating = Time for catching up on magazines before bed

Ovulating = Time to get down.
Not Ovulating = Time to catch up on magazines before bed

Idea #6 (Our Grand Finale)

Ovulating = Thrusting Hubby.  Not Ovulating = Sad Hubby

Ovulating = Thrusting Hubby.
Not Ovulating = Sad Hubby

If you have some novel ideas to join our new era of ovulation strips let us know!  You can add to the genius by:

A. commenting on this post

B.  posting on our facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/MisadventuresInBabymaking), OR

C.   Better yet TWEET us!  We’ll start a trend!  @AuthorsSM #ovulationfunstrips

We hope you enjoyed our artistic talents.  Now all we need is a “loan” for a few million dollars and a factory for our fun strips.

Love Authors S & M

Last summer, the two of us ladies sat around bitching at our favorite tavern about the enigma and ridiculousness of the dreaded… ovulation strip.  There have been so many days that the both of us spent either:

A.  Climbing on top of the bathroom counter trying to hold up sticks under a light source, imagining there is a second line

B.  Getting the strip so close to your face your nose is almost touching your own urine, squinting and trying to hallucinate a faint second line


IMG_1255

C. If you’re using the ClearBlue Easy then you’re peeing on an expensive stick day after day waiting for that sadistic smiley face to tell you it’s game time. (Much thanks to our follower sloughing uterus for the below picture and a nauseating reminder of how much we hate that F*@king smiley face)

smiley

We thought to ourselves – there has got to be a better way.  Something more… obvious.  Something that our brains could understand better.  Something more… entertaining…. so we thought of a new era of ovulation strips.  If we’re gonna spend minutes of our lives peeing on a stick and waiting for a sign, why not make it entertaining.

And we’re finally ready to share our genius – tomorrow not today 🙂

Stay tuned peeps!

Love Authors S & M

My Crazy OB

May 14, 2013 — Leave a comment

July 2012

Once our “waiting for an oops” method of conception failed miserably, I decided to have a candid conversation with my “lady doctor” about babymaking.  I figured no harm in gathering some advice on how we could increase our chances for success.  (Just FYI –  for a prude like me, such a conversation was extremely uncomfortable.  I would say it made me even more uncomfortable than watching people sing and dance on TV, or even worse watching a sex scene in a movie in front of my grandma).

My doctor’s first crazy idea was that I start taking my basal temperature every morning to figure out when I was ovulating.  As many of you know your basal temperature supposedly goes up about a degree during ovulation time.  So in the beginning of June I had my husband buy me an expensive pink thermometer and I got to work.  This supposedly special thermometer even came with a fancy chart to track my readings!  (Insert oooo’s and aaah’s here).

Except after about a week I realized there was a problem – my basal temperatures were seriously all over the place.  Basically, if I went by the results on my fancy chart – well, I was an ovulating machine and popping out an egg every other day. I wish.

So, I spoke with my OB again and expressed my perplexion about how this apparently reliable method was failing me. She reminded me that for this method to be accurate I should be checking every morning at the same time when I woke up and before I got out of the bed.

I about lost it – this lady knew my profession.  I work in an ER, I never wake up at the same time every morning.  I have obnoxious hours. Sometimes the alarm goes off at 7am for work like a normal person and other days I am going to bed at 7am after coming home from a night shift.  So basically this shit wasn’t going to work is what she was telling me.  So the fancy pink thermometer got thrown angrily into the junk drawer next to my bed, never to be seen again.  The chart got recycled and is probably a brown paper bag out there somewhere… although would be way more appropriate it if it had been turned into a box for tampons.

My crazy OB then suggested that maybe we should just try to have intercourse every day from days 10 through 20 of my cycle.  This lady told some great jokes.  My husband and I BOTH work in an ER which  means two sets of obscene and odd hours.  I am aware some couples have sex several times a week but depending on our schedules we were lucky some days to kiss each other good morning or good night.  In fact there are days we don’t see each other.  Or my favorite are those days where if we do get the pleasure of seeing each other it is for a 2 hour window when he gets home at 3am and I’m dead asleep before I have to wake up at 430am to get to an early morning shift.  I dare anyone to try and “get in the mood” when you’ve hard 3 hours of sleep and your significant other is exhausted from working 12 hours and smells like blood and other people’s B.O.

So in short her suggested methods of planning for us were hilarity!  Obviously my doc was a delusional nimphomaniac.   She thinks we all have time for sex all day long every day like a bunch of starved teenagers.  Silly lady.

But no matter I had a back up plan.  I had heard in a magical section of drugstores they sold these strips that tell you exactly when you’re ovulating.  These would surely be our fail safe method of babymaking right?

Here’s where future me inserts an evil laugh.  But that’s a story for another post so stay tuned.

Love Author M