That was me, just then. I cannot stop yawning. I have been so incredibly tired. I could sleep all day, almost.
I’m back from my early morning scan appointment, and it appears that things are pretty unremarkable. I had two 6 to 7 mm follicles on my left ovary and about 4 less than six, and then three or four 6 to 7 mm follicles on the right, plus four to six more under 6 mm follicles on the right. Good ol’ righty, slut that she is, just putting it out there for any old follicle-stimulating drug that comes along…
Anyhow, just unremarkable at this point, apparently neither over nor under stimulating. I guess that’s good. I’ll know more later once they get my E2 numbers back as far as any dosage changes and when my next appointment will be. So for now, not much for me to worry about (knocking wood that my E2 numbers are in range, of course.).
The fellow patrons in my clinic continue to baffle me. I realize that there is no “normal” infertile, and I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but it seems that every time I cross paths with other people in the clinic, in some way, they fall outside of whatever random stereotype I seem to have in my head for “infertile”. Which is weird, because I didn’t even know that I had a stereotype “infertile” in my head.
This morning, I walked into the clinic and there was a woman in her 60s sitting reading a magazine (cue confused look), which only started to make sense when a woman who appeared to be in her teens (but maybe early 20s) sat down next to her and called her “mom”. And then when the nurse called her back to the exam room, she asked if it was okay for her “mommy” to come with her. I don’t know why I found that weird. Maybe it’s that “mommy” is such a juvenile word, one that adults don’t typically use. Or maybe that’s just me and my issues with my mother, or the fact that I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which I would allow my mother within 100 ft of my bare vagina, but somehow the whole thing seemed really weird.
And the time when H and I were there for the pre-stim scan (where they discovered the Effin’ Cyst), the office was being patronized by eight-foot-tall stick-figure 40-year-old former model types, but then when I went for my Effin’ Cyst aspiration, I was surrounded by women with serious, substantial weight issues (as said by someone who thought she wasn’t that fat when she weighed over 260 lbs, so when I say substantial, I mean SUBSTANTIAL, like the one who was out of breath from the effort of standing up and walking the five feet from the waiting room to the check-in desk).
But today, after Haylee (the teen/20-ish year old, and yes, that is how she spelled her name, as I overheard her spelling it for the check-in nurse…) was called back, hers and her mother’s seats were taken by another couple, older, and of whom the gentleman was an obnoxious loudmouth who also had a serious respiratory infection (thanks!). I heard all about how he had only brought one check with him, and could he pay the fees for both the clinic and hospital on the same check (no). And how he had “done it” at home as he held up the paper bag and rattled it loudly at the lab worker who came out to retrieve his sample. And how, Oh, MAN, he couldn’t stop SNIFFLING, isn’t this weird, Paula, I can’t stop sniffling! I started to pick up the Kleenex box and chunk it at him, but I decided that would be a very hormone-induced-moody-style thing, and that I should let the thought pass without taking action (though it was hard to do in the moment…).
Anyhow, maybe it’s the internet’s fault, because I have known so many women in their early/mid-thirties pursuing various reproductive services, but it just baffles me that I never see women at my clinic that appear to be remotely my age, or who seem to be of moderate weight or moderate height. It’s all extremes- very “old” (reproductively, that is), very young, very fat, very thin. I don’t know. Maybe the “very thin” set look at me and think, “Fatso!”, but regardless, it is weird to me to look at the faces of these women and not see my own reflected back at me, not even a little.
But who knows? Maybe these women are seeing me and thinking the same thing. Maybe there’s just a diversity of women in this clinic, and maybe they cross my path and feel alienated by my appearance. I know the RE’s waiting room is a difficult place for all of us. Some people react by acting like obnoxious loudmouths, “Excuse me, Mr. Jones? I’m Linda. From the lab?” “WHY HELLO, LINDA-FROM-THE-LAB!!!! GOT MY SAMPLE ALL READY FOR YOU!!!” And some people react by flaunting their “free” one. And some react by getting impatient when your name is called before theirs [that happened early on. The woman actually stopped the nurse and said that she had been waiting a really long time (though I had been waiting longer), and that her appointment was for FIF! TEEN! MINUTES! AGO!… Oh, really? Mine was for half an hour ago, so CHILL…], and some react by having inane conversations with their partners (“this woman, at So-And-So’s daycare? I saw her after work on Friday at a bar! And she was drinking! I will NEVER send our child to XX daycare center! Unbelievable!”– direct quote…).
And I? I apparently react by reading a magazine while silently judging everyone, recording it all faithfully so I can bring it here and share it with all of you, tsk-ing in my head the whole time about how incredibly defensive this process can make us, fantasizing about throwing things at people (you know, helpful things, like Kleenexes for the drippy nosed man who apparently doesn’t know what they are used for), wondering what it is about this office that brings out the extraordinarily abnormal behaviors in almost everyone who goes here.
Ah, well. At least it makes for good stories, I suppose.
So that’s where I’m at. Waiting for the call from the nurse to let me know what’s up with tonight’s dosage, and when I get to go back for another dildo-cam appointment, and when I *might* expect to be looking at a tentative retrieval date. And judging all of my fellow, innocent infertile patients at the local clinic.
What was your RE office experience like (if you’ve had one, that is)? Were the people “normal”? Do you have some picture in your head of what an average infertile person looks like? Do you see yourself in the other patients? If you haven’t been to the RE, do you ever find yourself in situations where you feel like maybe you don’t belong, even though you know you do?