Back in the Stirrups Again

It is with guarded excitement that I announce we are back on the baby-makin train. Yesterday we met with our new doctor. My first impression is that I LOVE this man. To start off the consultation, the first thing he said was: Wow, I’m so sorry that your stack of medical records is so thick. Me too, dude, me too. It’s officially thicker than our phone book.

He kicked back in his chair and said: Ok, tell me everything. This may sound like a simple thing to most people, but I’ve been to more doctors in the last 4+ years than most people go in their entire lives. It’s rare to find a doctor who listens. And not only listens (I have been known to shut a doctor up by just talking right over top of him/her), but truly WANTS to know.

After I recapped the last few years, he rambled off our options. Apparently this man thought we were still shopping around for a doctor – he also thought we were still trying to figure out our next option. I guess that’s the way it is for most people, but now that we can call ourselves infertility veterans, we know what’s up. Halfway through his sales pitch I piped in and said “We want NCIVF, when can we start?” I felt kind of bad, I could tell he was enjoying his well rehearsed speech.

Five minutes later I found myself naked from the waist down, wrapped in a fantastically small pink paper blanket with feet in stirrups having my insides churned with the ultrasound wand. “Yep, ovaries are lookin’ good, lining looks fine. Well, while you’re here, let’s go ahead and do a mock transfer.”

So as I said, I’m not used to doctors asking me to tell “the whole story.” Um, doc - did I forget to mention that my transfers are from hell, take an hour and a half with me screaming, blood pouring out of me? No? I didn’t? Let me go back and tell you more of the story: I need to be unconscious for transfers. My uterus is tilted enough for the medical journals. Can we just skip the mock transfer and then knock me out for the real one? No? It’s required to be an NCIVF candidate? Oh….ok then…..

The doctor promises me that he just needs to see what’s going on with my anatomy, he’ll attempt it, but if there’s any pain he’ll stop – he just wants to get a feel for how hard the transfer will be. The transfer begins, he is so fascinated with the twists of my uterus that there are now six people crammed into this tiny room because they just “HAD to see this.” They’re all ohhhhing and ahhhhing over the ultrasound screen. The doctor is taking still shots left and right to save for my real transfer. Not even five minutes later, with minimal amounts of uncomfortableness, he announces: “I’m in.”

Whoa? What? That’s IT? I’m desperately holding on to J’s hand waiting for the pain and he’s already done? I look at the screen – holy crap, he really IS in. And I’m not screaming, crying, OR bleeding profusely. This is fantastic – high fives all around.

After a few more quick tests, a few order forms for updated bloodwork, a couple of handshakes, we’re checking out of the office – it’s been less than an hour since we arrived. Quick, painless and we find ourselves back on the road to baby makin’. As we drove away into the sunset, J and I holding hands – filled with new hope, determination and smiles on our faces - I let out a sigh of content: It’s good to be back in the stirrups again…