Lots of stuff, but nothing good

Well, we found out while on vaca that I am not pregnant. We called the Doctor's office and ordered the injectibles (ovidrel) and took the femara and patiently waited for our 12 day scan for our first insemination cycle.

The scan sucked. Actually, I guess it was actually my ovaries that suck. Lazy, worthless ovaries. The appointment sucked on so many levels it's not even funny.

It started out bad with no parking anywhere near the office. I ended up parking really far away in staff parking for the actual hospital and was a little late for the appointment. Turned out that was fine as I ended up waiting another 45 minutes anyways. The waiting room was so packed that I could barely find a seat. Everyone was pregnant or holding newborns.

When I was finally called back into the exam room I spent another 20 minutes naked from the waist down, covered in a paper sheet and freezing. When the Doctor finally graced me with her presence, it turned out not to be my beloved Dr. Wonderful, as we shall now refer to her, but instead her evil partner, Dr. McBitch.

Now, keep in mind I have never met Dr. McBitch. Never even layed eyes on her, so when her first words to me where "You need to get pregnant. You are making me look bad.", I was torn about how to reply to this. My first instinct was to come back with "Yep, you caught me. I spent the last 10 years pretending to attempt a successful pregnancy, but secretly I have been sabotaging myself just to screw up your friggen stats." In the end I decided to keep my mouth shut since I was aware that this is the same woman who would soon be wielding the ultrasound wand and aiming for my difficult to locate left ovary.

She confirmed that my uterus still exists (the way things go for me, it's always safe to just check) and she went for the left ovary first. There were potentials, but not of any size to write home about. It's cool, I thought, my right ovary is really my favorite anyway. Turns out that my right ovary stabbed me in the back too. Nothing of any value on either side. Apparently, I had a remaining follicle (forgive me if this is wrong, but she threw a lot of stuff at me at one time and I was too busy trying not to cry like a big baby to write it down) on my left ovary that likely prevented my ovaries from doing their one and only job and making me some usable eggs.

Our course of action was/is to finish this cycle and start birth control pills for the next cycle. This should clear up the issues and we will try an insemination cycle again the following month. Today is day 2 of my BCP cycle and my little pre-filled syringe of Ovidrel is ready and waiting in the fridge.

At first I was crushed. The way she phrased things was that we had no hope of insemination working and we would have to step up our game to injectibles to even have a chance. That is not an option for us, as injectibles are the primary cause of high order multiples and we are not really all that interested in having a litter of children. After a bit of clarification, she offered a ray of hope by stating that she really felt confident about this plan working for us, since she was sure that the Femara was working.

I felt better for about 10 seconds before she chided me for tearing up and told me that I had no reason to cry and that lots of women were in far worse situations that me. That is true, but does that mean I can't indulge in a bit of self pity once in a while. That comment stung, but I got past that as soon as the blinding rage kicked in from her next statements. Apparently she has two healthy young boys, but had to use in vitro for her first pregnancy which ended in a miscarriage. I explained that I had also suffered pregnancy loss, but according to the good doctor, mine doesn't count as much as hers since she spent $50,000 on her failed pregnancy. It's times like these that I really wish someone had explained the whole monetary value to grief policy to me. I mean, I felt so silly whining about my own to dead babies when hers was obviously more important because it was expensive.

To my credit, my head did not explode and I did not assault her with the handiest blunt object. I love my real doctor way to much to risk a restraining order. The Husband and I discussed it and I will be very clear in future appointment making sessions to stress that I will only see Dr. Wonderful. And just to be on the safe side, I will leave the handgun at home for all OB/Gyn appointments from now on.