Silver Linings

Monday was AWFUL.

I went to my new OB/GYN’s office with relatively low expectations. Almost as expected, I got lost. So I was already pretty annoyed. Paperwork was interesting. I had to watch a video about patient rights but in my annoyance about getting lost I accidentally hit the “Spanish Audio” button. At least I understood about half of it.

Looking around the waiting room, there were a couple of clearly pregnant women. My last doctor was just a gynecologist so seeing so many pregnant in one place (besides a home store a few weekends ago -that was weird) was a little jarring.

My name is finally called and I answer a bunch of questions from the nurse in this cubby thing. It was strange and made me wonder about privacy, considering I could hear part of a conversation from another patient and nurse. That patient weighed 112 and had lost weight. I, however, gained 2 pounds over the weekend according to scale at the doctor’s office.

I understand that the questions the nurse asked me are standard procedure, but I felt like complete shit afterwards. We’ve been trying to get pregnant for almost 2 years. No, neither DH or I have a history of STDs. No, I’m not on any medications. Yes, our sex life is fine. What stung was when she asked me how many pregnancies I’ve had.

Zero.

Maybe my perception was warped from the morning’s hassle but it felt like she was surprised. As if how can a healthy woman in her late 20s not have a child after almost 2 years of unprotected sex? I felt ashamed. Broken. Like I’ve done something wrong. My body’s done some real stupid things but not being able to produce children felt like the worst thing it could ever do.

After the interrogation, I had to go to a much smaller waiting room. It was myself, an older woman, and a couple. The woman of the couple looked about 5 months pregnant and she and the other 2 people were gushing about carseats and toys and nursery decor. Meanwhile I’m sitting across from them pretending to care about Vogue’s 50 pound September issue while fighting back tears.

Kind of like I am now recounting this. I still don’t care about the September issue.

Anyway, I was awash with relief when she and her presumably husband and presumably family member were called to see their doctor. I was left alone in the waiting room with my self-pity and that 50 pound magazine. I was called back not long after and waited some more in my doctor’s office. It was weird. It was his actual office, with family photos and 5 degrees (one from an Ivy League!). I was still feeling emotional and was fighting back the tears hard. I wouldn’t have time to go back home and redo my makeup before going to work. I sat there for a while, debating whether it was ethical to reach behind his desk and grab a tissue, or use my sweater. After much mental debate (would the nurse leave a patient in the doctor’s office alone if she didn’t trust me? Would I see any personal health info if I actually got that tissue? Is my lunch safe in the car?), I used my sweater and stared at the ceiling.

My doctor came in, we’ll call him Dr. Q.  He was very nice and thorough with his questioning. Turns out my last doctor, who we’ll call Dr. W, was way off base, which I figured and was why I stopped going to her. Dr. Q was surprised that Dr. W never ordered blood tests (which I found odd too) and relied more on empirical evidence versus seeing what was going on with me. Dr. Q laid out a plan for me, which includes returning in a few weeks to check my progesterone, then when my period starts to check my estrogen. He said I ovulate fine, but the issue could be what happens between the time my period starts and the time I ovulate. Dr. Q said depending on my hormone levels I may need to start medication to help regulate my hormones. I asked him about Vitex and he said it would neither help nor harm. I decided to stop taking Vitex because there’s no point and it’s difficult enough to take my enormous prenatal every morning.By the time I left, I felt much more confident and I have a pretty good feeling about the next few months. I tell you want, if I get pregnant next month it’ll be the best birthday present ever.

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