As mentioned in Our Struggle Part V, I assume there are not too many guys who will want to read this one. I have no way to describe it without being explicit, and it will certainly make some people uncomfortable. This is also a short entry because although it sounds like a lot goes on, it is really a short appointment. So, woohoo, here goes:
Day 3 refers to day 3 of your menstrual cycle. As soon as your flow begins, you call to schedule your appointment. So, on day 3, I loaded into the car, cramps and all, and headed down to the RSC New England. I wasn’t really nervous, more excited to finally be getting a diagnosis, really figure out what was going on. And, ultrasounds aren’t that scary, right?
I sat in the waiting room and downed some water. I failed to mention that at the previous appointment when I had blood drawn I passed out. It was a very brief episode, and I think it had a lot to do with nerves, not eating, and not drinking. So today I had some breakfast, and was drinking water by the bottle full. Today blood work was to test for pregnancy (I wish), FSH, estradiol, thyroid, and prolactin levels. After the blood work I was sent to have my ultrasound. And this is where the shock was factored in…
I was given a johnny which seemed a little strange to me. Why would I need to be naked for an ultrasound? The nice, sweet, caring, pleasant U/S tech, who also happened to be training someone that day, asked me to go behind the curtain and change into the johnny. I complied, and came back out:
“Honey, do you have a tampon in?”
RED cheeks. I’m talking RED. “Erm, yes.” I replied timidly.
“Oh, ok, no problem, there’s a wastebasket behind that curtain.”
At this point, my confusion level was at an all time high. “It must block something they are trying to see. Just get on with it, Mary” I thought to myself. Yank, out goes the almost dry tampon. (Wondering how many ladies just cringed at the thought.) My eyes darted around the small space, looking for a tissue or something to wrap it in.
“Everything ok?” The tech asked politely.
“Oh, ya, just…looking for a tissue or something.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, honey. We will take care of it.”
Gross. “Erm, ok” I chucked it and wobbled out.
“Ready?” She was smiling and holding what looked to be a large, misshapen dildo. The woman she was training was asking her questions, and my mind was starting to race. “Lie back and try to relax” she said, still smiling.
“I’m sorry, I think there’s some confusion. I’m here for an ultrasound.” (As usual when I am really nervous, that whole statement came out as one, rushed word.) Where was the jelly they lather on your belly? Where was the flat-headed ultrasound wand?
“Yup, Mary Choquette, here for your day three ultrasound to get a follicle count and check out your uterine cavity. We are ready!”
In it went. Certainly not the most comfortable thing in the world, but I wouldn’t call it painful. I would compare it to a pelvic exam. Wiped a quick tear of embarrassment/shame/why me? away, and I was on my way to wait for the next part of my testing. Which brings us to the next chapter: Infertility – Our Struggle part VII: HSG and Semen Analysis.