Saturday, August 18, 2007
So I made the appointment at a local hospital. I was surprised to find out that my insurance would cover the HSG. My HMO covers all diagnostic testing, but no “procreative management” procedures (i.e. IUI, IVF, etc).
I received a call the day before the exam, and the woman on the line asked if I wanted to pre-register for the procedure. She explained that it would save time the morning of the exam, so I played along. She asked me the basics (SSN, birth date, contact info) and then asked me a bunch of ridiculous questions (my race and religious background—WTF?).
So my husband and I walk into the clinic in the morning, about 15 minutes before my appointment. We check in at the radiology desk, and the woman at the desk asks me my name and date of birth. Upon hearing my reply, she said, “Uh oh”—never a good sign. Turns out the woman who did my pre-registration was new, and she screwed up my date of birth. I’ve been around enough hospitals to know that your SSN and your birth date are the most important numbers they need. She had my birth date completely wrong, making me 11 years older than I am. As a result, I had to make my way over to the admissions desk and re-register.
Walking over to the admissions desk, I looked at my file. At the top of the page, it said:
It’s jarring to see it spelled out like that. Diagnosis: Infertility. It kinda sounds like the name of a television show that would air on Lifetime Television for Women. It might be a C.S.I. spinoff, like C.S.I.: Uterus.
After the registration fiasco, we waited a while, and were finally led into the exam room by a very sweet nurse. She instructed me to undress below the waist and put on a gown that opened in the back. Both the nurse and the radiologist were very nice, and explained every step of the procedure both beforehand and during the exam.
The doctor inserted a catheter into my uterus, and then up into one of my fallopian tubes. He admitted that he went a little too far, and it was evident by the massive cramping I started to feel. As he injected the dye, the pain worsened, and my husband and the nurse held my hands to get me through it. I was surprised at how much it hurt—I had heard that some women feel some discomfort, but what I felt was beyond discomfort. I felt like a big pussy, but I was in a lot of pain.
The doctor moved the monitor over near my head so I could see the dye move through my tubes as he performed the exam. I didn’t realize I’d get to see the results live, and I really appreciated being told what was going on. After we finished, we got copies of the pictures from the nurse (I don’t think they’re supposed to do this, which made me like my nurse even more).
As expected, my tubes were clear. This clears me for moving on into the world of injectable fertility drugs.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I was on The Pill for half my life, from ages 16 to 32. I stopped taking it 3 years ago, when we decided to get pregnant. We’re still waiting for that to happen, thus the reproductive endocrinologist. Who put me on The Pill.
We are starting injectable drugs this time around, so The Pill will help to keep my cycle in sync with the master plan. I have my long-delayed HSG test this week, so if I pass that, we are good to go. Birth control, indeed.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I am infertile.
It’s taken me nearly 20 years to say those words. I. Am. Infertile. You see, saying it makes it real, and I didn’t want it to be true, so I said other words. I have irregular periods. I have to be on The Pill to regulate my cycle. I don’t ovulate regularly. All code words for I Am Infertile.
After 16 years of irregular periods, I was officially diagnosed with PCOS in 2004, about 3 months after I went off The Pill to try to get pregnant. I always knew that I would have problems conceiving, but I never really understood how painful infertility can be.
So here we are 3 years later, still fighting the good fight. Here’s hoping that it ends well.