In Which We Receive Good News, but are Subjected to a Minor Annoyance

First and foremost: the HSG that I was so nervous about went really well. When I say "really well" I mean "did not hurt like a mofo" and also "had a good result."  I do think these two are related; I've had 3 HSGs in my life. Two of them were mildly uncomfortable, and deemed normal. One was excruciating and most definitely abnormal. It makes sense; stretching scar tissue is a lot more hurty than stretching a healthy uterus.

Anyway, the doctor said it was the best post-Asherman's HSG he'd seen, which made me feel a bit better about being so OCD about seeing a specialist, avoiding D&C, etc. Here's hoping it's a good sign!

The minor annoyance, on which I will of course expend a lot more text:

I went to have my teeth cleaned yesterday. I walked in and got my least-favorite hygienist, the one who seems to blame me for having a small mouth. As soon as she saw me she said "oh, are you pregnant?"

Me: ...no

Inappropriate Hygienist: Oh!

Me (coldly): I just carry all my fat on my abdomen.

IH: Oh, so do I, blah blah blah so hard to lose blah blah blah crunches blah blah.

Me:  You know, that's really not a good question to ask.

IH: I thought it was going to be a happy thing!

Me: I've had two miscarriages recently. I'd rather not hear that.

IH: Ohh... sorry. how are you doing? With all that.

Me (arctic): Fine.

IH: Do you have any kids?

Me: I have one, he's four.

IH: Well then, you're blessed.

Me: Yes.

IH: But you still want more?

Me (desperately): Can we please just not have this conversation?

IH: Oh.

IH leaves the room to get some supplies, comes back a few minutes later and asks about summer vacation plans. I spend the rest of the visit trying to pretend that she doesn't exist, which is pretty difficult considering that she's poking me with a sharp piece of metal.

The thing is, I do carry weight around my tummy. I have a Pooh-bear belly, and always have even at my thinnest. I mean, right now I'm less than 10 lbs over the NIH-sanctioned "healthy" weight, and I still have a gut. I ain't ashamed but I also don't find it particularly aesthetically pleasing, so I usually wear loose tops. This of course leads directly to pregnancy assumptions, because any woman wearing a loose top is probably pregnant, or at least would be pleased to discuss her reproductive status with complete strangers.

It's just one of life's little jokes that polycystic ovaries lead to both central obesity and difficulty achieving and maintaining pregnancy.

As the kids say on the internet, smh.

Oh, FFS.

Dear Health Insurance,

I approve of your proactive focus on wellness. It's innovative and no doubt cost-effective to start supporting pregnant women's health from the very beginning of their pregnancy. It's efficient that you don't have to rely upon your members to inform you of their pregnancy. What do you do, wait for something to be billed to the "prenatal visit" billing code? Clever.

But before you send out the glossy welcome material, before you send the box full of pregnancy-friendly snacks and coupons, plastered all over with pictures of tiny multicultural hands and feet and scrumptious pictures of weensy newborn babes --

You might want to check your records a little more closely and see if the person who recently filed a claim for prenatal services has, even more recently, filed a claim for hospital services for a D&C. You could maybe save yourself a little money that way.

Sincerely,
A distinctly unpregnant member.

CD12: In Which Yet Another Lab Tech Makes Me Cry

In preparation for this month's IUI, I went in this morning for a blood draw to determine how close I am to ovulation and if we should start doing ultrasounds.

My blood was drawn not by any of the lovable cast of characters you've met so far (Chatty Phlebotomist, Inappropriate Lab Administrative Assistant, or Ultra-Sweet Lab Manager). This morning it was drawn by the guy that the GF and I just call "Crazy Guy".

Crazy Guy is also a phlebotomist. Crazy Guy is called Crazy Guy because he rambles constantly, half of it mumbling. The mumbling contributes to the incomprehensibility of the soliloquy. If he weren't wearing a lab coat you'd think about calling hospital security. But his mumblings don't seem to distress his co-workers, and he draws blood with perfect ease, so I have had no quarrel with him.

Until today.

Me: (being swabbed, having tourniquet fitted)
Crazy Guy: So, how many kids you got at home?
Me: None.
Crazy Guy: Ah, you will.
Me: Hope you're right.
Crazy Guy: Little girl.
Me: (thinks it's a question) Girl or boy, I don't really mind, I'd be happy with either.
Crazy Guy: No, I'm telling you, you're gonna have a little girl.
Me: (stares at wall silently, tries not to cry)
Crazy Guy: (witnesses tear-filled eyes with satisfaction) When people come here, I like to uplift them.

CD22, Day 21 of BCPs, Day 7 of Lupron

There hasn't been much to report. This stage of IVF is boring, just weeks of preparing by taking birth control pills and, for the last third, Lupron. All of this is meant to lull my ovaries into a false sense of security a sweet slumber, so they will be well rested when we blast high-decibel Metallica at them begin the stimulation medications.

Once again The Apothecary Shop covered themselves with glory, sending

1. extra infinitesimally tiny Lupron needles -- 31 gauge! I can barely see the needles, much less feel them.
2. a nice styrofoam cooler which will in the future find itself full of ice and beer
3. instructions on how to give all of the shots. Not that we don't know how by now, but it's comforting, anyway.

Oh, and I forgot to tell them that I already had a Follistim pen and wallet, so they sent one along with the Follistim. The wallet's a nice hard-shelled case. It will not go to waste, however. It's a pretty good size for my Nintendo DS Lite.

Other than the reproductive stuff, things have been a bit crazy. Our beloved insane poodle mix got into some mouse poison, spent three days in the animal hospital, and nearly died. Research revealed that this all could have been avoided if the pest control company had, you know, followed the instructions on the poison and used tamper-resistant baits stations. I've sent a letter asking them to pay the nearly $2000 vet bill and swear to me that they've put safeguards in place to make sure this never happens again. If they refuse I'll have to sue them in small claims court and get state agencies involved. It's all stressful, but I don't see letting them get away with it, not when the next dog or kid could die if they don't start following the rules.

I thought that the BCPs and Lupron had been treating me pretty well, but then my sweetie pointed out that I've been on a bad bad headtrip for lo these ten days now. I take my last pill tonight, and we're all hoping that my mood returns to normal once the pills are out of my system.

Oh, and I forgot to report the conversation I had with Chatty Phlebotomist when I went in to have my blood drawn:

Chatty Phlebotomist: Wow, we see you here a lot.
Me: Yes, I'm a patient of Dr. Fertility's. Soon you'll be seeing me for blood draws every other day.
CP:Ohhh, Dr. Fertility. You know (leans forward confidentially) it'll happen when you least expect it.
Me: I don't think so.

Okay, that was weird.

A young -- mid to late 20s? -- woman just stumbled into my office. "I need some advice," she said.

"What about?" I ask, thinking to direct her to the appropriate office. My department in is on the same floor as the Employee Assistance Program and Career Management Program, so people often come in here looking for one of those.

Mystery woman: I applied for a job, it's a great job, the interview went great. And I just found out I'm pregnant.

Me: Err. Congratulations! Look, I'm not a counselor. I'm a data analyst and this is *insert name of completely non-related department*. Are you currently an employee of *our organization*? (I'm thinking that I can steer her to the appropriate department, if she's an employee and covered by our benefits)

MW: Yes, yes. But I don't want a counselor, I just want advice from someone who is completely not involved. Can I sit?

Me: Um. Sure! I'm certainly not involved, since I have no idea who you are.

So she sits and unloads the story. She's been married two years, just bought a house, this is their first child. The job is a great job at another division, which incidentally does not share benefits with ours. Pay is much better, it's a much more senior position. She thinks she's got an excellent chance. But should she call them and tell them she's pregnant? She doesn't want to deceive them, but she really wants this job. Also, she wouldn't be eligible for FMLA since by the time the baby's born she'll have been there for less than a year.

Well, luckily I have an opinion about everything and love to give advice. I told her to keep her mouth shut until she gets a job offer, in writing. Then she can decide if she wants to, as a condition of taking the job, negotiate for unpaid leave... or if she'd rather take the job, say nothing, give it a few months and then hope that they'd give her leave. We chatted for a while, she thanked me, I wished her mazel tov, and she left.

It was odd. She looked so normal, just sitting there all pregnant.