Marisa and Doug
Doug and I were married in 2004 and we bought a house outside of NYC in November, 2005. I went off the nuva-ring six months earlier and was enjoying charting my cycles. Just as I thought, I had perfect, 28 day cycles, the way I had my entire life. I had never had so much as a yeast infection and never thought getting pregnant would be an issue. Also, two of my best friends got pregnant the same month we started trying, so naturally I assumed I would follow.
I would daydream about how it would feel to get two pink lines on a home pregnancy test. In my dream it was always early on a weekend morning. I’d crawl back into bed and gently whisper something to my husband. He’d sit straight up in bed like a rocket, a dazed look on his face from both the news and being abruptly woken. We’d hug and cry and rejoice and go back to sleep with his hands resting lightly on my tummy. Just wait to take an HPT on a Sunday and everything else will fall into place. That’s what happened to my friends, so why wouldn’t it work for me?
After the second month of no luck I made an appointment with my ob/gyn. I figured, why not get my baseline day 3 blood drawn now, instead of waiting just to find out I have a problem down the road? Everything came back fine and Doug did a semen analysis. Again, perfect. All together we tried naturally for six months. Six months of hell, of making symptoms up, of frustration, of learning to keep my mouth shut tight. Counting, always counting. How many days until ovulation? How many days until I can test? What cycle day am I on today? I’d discreetly push and shove my breasts in my cube at work. Hmm, maybe if I just pushed them this way it will hurt. No, ok maybe this way. Oh wait- is that a cramp? Is my uterus doing something it normally shouldn’t on Day 17 and 10 hours and 42 minutes??
Thankfully, my best friend advised me to immediately see a specialist, an RE. Sure, why not? Our doctor was only a few years older than Doug and attended the same university as I did. I mean, if I was a few years older we could have dated in college. And now he’s sticking wands with condoms up my birth canal.
He distinctly said, “We love patients like you!” I was young, healthy, had been charting for 13 months, really on top of the game. My pelvic sonogram was “textbook.” Give it one more month, he said, and if a no go we’ll do a hystersalpinogram (HSG), an x-ray where a catheter is threaded through the cervix in order to inject dye and see if the fallopian tubes are open and clear. Sounds like a ball of fun.
I was nervous for the HSG but at the same time naive enough to assume everything would be fine. I see the physician make a face at the screen and she asks me to tilt my pelvis to the left, trying to get the fluid to flow. She asks me again, and then again. “Have you ever had an infection?” Nope, never. I have some pooling, she says, but declines to explain what in the world that means. I was told to stand up, walk around, and come back for another x-ray in fifteen minutes to see if moves. It doesn’t. More upsetting is I see her consulting with another doctor in a private room, my films on the screen. If everything was ok, why would she feel the need for another opinion? She comes back and gravely tells me, “You should speak with your doctor.” And then she left the room.
I immediately requested my films and walked right over to the doctor’s office. I didn’t have an appointment and I didn’t care. I camped out in the lobby until he could see me and I didn’t care how silly I looked. He was finally able to give me one minute in between patients and I nervously handed over the x-rays and climbed onto the exam table.