Archive | March 2014

The OB Waiting Room, Post-D&E

For an infertile, there isn’t much worse than sitting in the OBGYN waiting room for a followup appointment after a D&E. I don’t know if it was because I was 15 minutes late to my appointment (freak midday traffic jam, ARGH), or if it’s just this OB’s MO, but an hour after I arrived, I was still languishing in the waiting room with the pregnant ladies, the newborns, and the couple who have another bun in the oven but clearly can’t even control the bun they already have.

Here’s a tip for you ladies who have just had a miscarriage and are forced to visit the OBGYN for a followup visit: Ask the receptionist IMMEDIATELY for an alternative place to sit other than the waiting room. This isn’t an uncommon request and they do try to accommodate you.

Unfortunately, I didn’t ask to be seated elsewhere, so I just went on my merry way filling out the paperwork amongst the fertiles.

When I got to:

“Number of Pregnancies?” 4.
“Number of Children?” 0.

…I lost it. Just sobbed right there in the waiting room. Not a single person seemed to notice, or maybe they all pretended not to notice. I had to ask the receptionist for Kleenex.

Other than that emotionally charged day at the OB and my current flu predicament, K and I are feeling much better, and I thank MLACS for checking in on me and inspiring me to post again.

K has thankfully returned to his usual happy, laid-back, hard-working, sporadically-helpful-around-the-house self. On Sunday while I was at work, he surprised me by going food shopping and making 2 healthy recipes we can heat up all week, plus a Waldorf salad using greek yogurt.

K’s difference in mood is mostly because his new job finally came through and he gave notice to his current one. Hooray! Plus… There is a significant pay raise involved. 🙂

Unfortunately his new health insurance plan SUCKS, and the policy says right up front that IVF will never be covered. So despite living in a state that requires infertility to be covered, I’m still forced to go buy my own, very expensive policy to cover more IVF. And in the process, I discovered that no company will approve more than 6 IVF cycles in my lifetime (unless there is an intervening live birth, after which I might get one or two more) even if those cycles were paid by a different company. So I guess we’d better make these last two count. Gulp.

But right now, I will try not to worry about that. Instead, I will enjoy the fact that, because I don’t have children, I am afforded the luxury of recovering from the flu without interruption. ❤

Gibbs Understands

I’ve been sick in bed with a super nasty flu bug for three days now. The only good thing about it is canceling work to snuggle with kitties while catching up on 2 weeks of DVR.

A current story line on NCIS follows Ducky’s assistant, Palmer, as he and his wife struggle with infertility and eventually infant adoption. He comes back from the hospital in despair after the birth mother decides to keep the baby. This conversation with Gibbs got the waterworks going:


Palmer: She is so much stronger than I am, and me… I feel like I can’t breathe. I’ve never felt this bad in my life, Gibbs.

Gibbs: Well, just wait ’til it’s 3 in the morning and your kid is running 104. You’re just getting started.

Palmer: That’s the point, I’m NOT getting started, and… Maybe I never will.

Gibbs: Well, then FIGHT for it, Palmer! That’s what you do, you fight for your family! And sometimes, you fight like hell just to HAVE one.

Palmer: You want me to fight? I feel like I just went 10 rounds with Joe Lewis.

Gibbs: Do you want to be dad, Palmer? Because right now, THIS is being a dad.

Thank you, Gibbs, for understanding. ❤

Empty Stomach, Empty Womb

No food or drink after midnight, the nurses said.

I hate fasting. I really, really hate it. On the car ride down to my D&E, NPR aired a story on gluten free food that made me so hungry I had to change the station. When we arrived at the hospital’s surgical center, the receptionist gave us a buzzer just like we were at a restaurant. The waiting room smelled like french fries and I wistfully watched a woman sip her grande Starbucks drink.

Our buzzer buzzed and we were led to the pre-op room, where I changed into hospital attire and joked about the handy pocket in the johnny. (The “pocket” is actually a quick-access portal to my chest in case of emergency, a nurse explained.) The OR nurses have a completely different vibe from the IVF ones. The IVF nurses always seem a little blasé and patronizing, plus they’re mixed in with the green fellows and interns, who I never fully trust. Here, there were no students– just the nurses, the anesthesiologist and the OB/GYN– and I instinctively KNEW they were good.

I was asked again if I was a medical professional. Sigh. I’m flattered, but no, I’ve just been doing this for a really long time.

The actual procedure was easy, thanks to the expert anesthesiologist. She had me completely out for the exact length of the procedure and no longer. I wasn’t aware of them putting my legs in stirrups, sticking on electrodes, doing the procedure, putting mesh panties and a pad on me, or transferring me back onto the gurney. It is really an exercise in giving up control. Sadly, it must feel like this sometimes for the elderly.

Back in recovery, I woke up crying. One of the nurses was right there beside me with a comforting hand and a box of Kleenex. I’m sobbing now as I remember. She even offered to give me a minute alone before K came back into recovery, which I was relieved about, but alas, K was already on his way in. It’s not that I’ve wanted to hide any emotions from him; I’ve just wanted to be strong for him. This time around, he’s needed to lean on me.

I’ve been happy to be strong for him, but I definitely could’ve done without making my own dinner that night. It p*sses me off and perplexes me that K does NOT have the gene to wait on me hand and foot after a procedure like this. I was STARVING after fasting all day (DUH), but he just didn’t understand that food needed to happen for me RIGHT NOW. So I put some chicken noodle soup on the stove and informed him that he was in charge of bringing it to me when it was ready. I guess that’s as close as I’ll ever get to hand-and-foot. Either way, there’s really nothing better than chicken noodle soup followed by a giant bowl of ice cream. ❤

(By the way, I'm sorry this update took so long. You guys deserved to read something substantial, so I sacrificed speed.)