I have been trying to follow my sister-in-law's advice from my last post, which I summarize as: Do everything. Keep trying. Keep traveling. Keep having fun. Keep trusting God. And go to the doctor.
I was due for my annual check-up at the OBGYN, but I had been debating about whether or not to inquire about fertility testing when I went in for my appointment. It seemed a bit like jumping the gun, or to be really Bible-y about it, pulling an Abraham and taking matters into my own hands (minus the sleeping-with-the-help thing). To wit, we've only* been trying in earnestness for five months.
On the other hand, we've been off of any form of birth control for 13 months, and during the first half of that time period, we used the "fertility awareness method" as contraception with progressively less vigilance each month.
I took Sara's nudge as my green light. After all, she's a sonographer, so she deals with this kind of thing all the time. So I called the OB and scheduled an annual exam, plus a fertility consultation.
Let's just be honest: Going to the OB for a pap smear is the absolute pits. I'd almost rather have a tooth drilled. You're given a piece of paper to wear while the doctor cranks open your hoo-ha with a cold metal tool. Now I was adding to that experience a conversation about the dreaded i word -- infertility. (I just shuddered. It's worse than uttering "Voldemort.")
The anticipation of the appointment was actually much worse than the appointment itself. My doctor is very professional, and her office is very clean and inviting. The fertility consultation took all of three minutes. She was skeptical about starting testing ("We usually tell couples to try for a year"), but agreed to it when I meekly said I was ready to start getting some answers. I also pulled the "I'm over 30" card, which I think tipped the balance.
The first step was coming in for a pelvic ultrasound, which they perform there in the office. She would meet with me right afterward to discuss the scans. I scheduled the appointment for a week later.
Again, I anticipated the appointment with dread. The sonogram was vaginal, and what would that be like? And how would I react if there was something wrong? Lauren asked me what I hoped the results would be. "Well ..." I thought for a minute. "I hope there's something super minor wrong that can be easily fixed with some meds."
The morning of the appointment, I spent extra time getting ready. Full makeup, full hair, nice outfit. I looked very put-together, to cover up the fact that inside I was a big gross twisted knot. A pregnant girl (yes, "girl," not woman) sat across from me in the waiting room. She was holding a teddy bear the doctor's office had given her, and she was filling out forms with cute pink sketches of babies all over them. Do not fall apart, I ordered myself, blinking back tears and swallowing a lump of irrational rage.
First came a urine sample, then the ultrasound, which was way easier than the pap. We took a look at my insides, which actually makes for pretty riveting TV. There was my uterus, looking like a half-inflated whoopie cushion. There was one ovary. There was the other. I allowed myself one self-pitiful moment of wishing we were looking at a fetus. "Good luck!" chirped the sonographer as she exited the room after finishing.
Back out to the waiting room to wait for my OB. Pregnant Girl was gone. Good. Then back to a treatment room. I read half of a month-old issue of People while I waited, heart pounding.
Finally Dr. Danna entered. "Well," she announced, "everything was normal with your pap. And the ultrasound looks good too -- normal-sized uterus, normal-sized ovaries; the uterine walls are the right thickness." She also said something about a cyst that was consistent with ovulation, meaning I had ovulated -- something I already knew, but it was still gratifying to hear.
She encouraged me to have Philip tested, and she gave me the name of a reproductive specialist to call. She said something twice about "establishing myself" with them, which I didn't love; I don't want to become a fixture with those people. But whatever. Next step would be to have the specialist draw blood to check my hormones.
I left MASSIVELY relieved. I was wrong about what I told Lauren -- it was way better to hear that everything is fine. Once again, the appointment itself had been way less of a deal than worrying about it.
Now I've decided to give the testing route a rest for a couple of weeks. We'll know soon enough if we were successful this month, and I'm trying to keep my emotions in check. Two doctor's appointments in one month is enough for my fragile psyche. It's still possible that nothing whatsoever is wrong with me or Philip, and I'm not ready to fully concede to the i word just yet.
*When people say to me that it's "only" been five months, I have to restrain myself
from ripping their heads off, as each month feels like an eternity when you're unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant.