I pulled my finger out my arse this morning (figuratively, not literally, although Dave did randomly text me last night about him putting a finger up my bum during sex to make me scream, but that’s another story…) and booked an appointment with the doctor.
Now, those of you that have been reading my blog for a while will remember that I last attempted to go to the doctor back in December. I saw an insentive Portuguese doctor (why I feel it’s relevant to state she was Portuguese I don’t know*) and I left feeling incredibly upset and misunderstood. She was very dismissive and unhelpful. It was also a complete fuck-up of a cycle (fortunately I’ve not had another one like it since) but it meant I couldn’t have my Day 21 bloods done because ovulation didn’t happen when it should have done and then it was the Christmas and New Year period when I couldn’t make an appointment anyway.
Plus, I still have an irrational fear of the doctors. So I never look forward to going anyway. I cry every single time. Even if it was about a poorly big toe, I would cry. I’m pathetic.
But today, I woke up feeling badass.
I was going to grab the metaphorical bull by the horns and GET SHIT DONE.
And I was NOT going to cry.
First hurdle was to make the actual appointment. I realised that Mondays are a stupid day to try and see a doctor because all the people who were poorly over the weekend emerge from their pits. But if I didn’t make it for today, it would never have been done. I have plans every day this week and then it’s bank holiday weekend so it had to be today.
I felt a little bit bad being there as I was the healthiest person in the waiting room. But then I justified it by telling myself I pay my taxes for this service, the benefit scroungers don’t, and I WANT TO HAVE A BABY GODAMMIT.
So I rang at 8am when the surgery opened for appointments. I had thought about trying to book online like I’ve done previously but then you get the ridiculous system where they offer you a slot 3 weeks on Thursday. The NHS is a marvellous thing and we are bloody lucky to have it in the U.K. but it fails with the appointment system. If you are ill, you can only see a doctor once you are better. So you’re better off taking those appointments in advance, just in case you’re actually ill by the time of the appointment.
Im not even joking.
Anyway, in the past, the record number of tries for me to get through to an actual person at my doctor’s practice was 87. 87 times of ringing and hanging up in the space of 10 minutes to be told that there were no appointments left that day. But they could fit me in 3 weeks on Thursday. FML.
So I was prepared for a fight. I’d had a drink, done my morning ablutions (aka my morning poo) and settled on the bed. At 7:59am I started ringing.
Well blow me down when I got through straight away. And then when the receptionist said I could have the first appointment at 9am I nearly fell off the bed! And the best bit was I had an appointment with a nice English man that I’d seen once or twice before. A different doctor, a different bedside manner, a different opinion. And hopefully, different luck.
So I got dressed, put my positive big girl pants on, and walked there. Normally I would drive, but I wanted to fit in some exercise and also prep my mind. Instead of taking 3 minutes to drive there and arriving too early and stewing in the waiting room for 10 minutes, I took 15 minutes walking there, had just enough time to check in, sit down and look at my phone before it was time to go in. No calm breathing exercises needed (or the time to do them, for that matter).
First mini-achievement, I was able to say “My husband and I have been trying for a baby for 16 months without success” without bursting into tears. I felt very proud of that! Once I’d overcome that hurdle and the doctor let me explain the issue I have with taking bloods (getting the day right, plus getting an appointment on the right day, and fitting it in with teaching) I was able to relax. He said I could book in for my first blood test right away, and because I was insistent about having everything tested for, he agreed that on my first blood test he would test for lots of other things, not just progesterone, rather than waiting for 3 months of Day 21 tests and THEN testing for other stuff. So I was pleased with that. He’ll test for things like my thyroid, AMH, prolactin etc.
I mentioned getting a SA done for Dave and he said we can get right on with that in the meantime. Unfortunately I couldn’t book the appointment for him there and then (this obviously did not sit well with the impatient part of me – if only I could fucking produce the sample myself as well!) but he did explain that as soon as Dave makes the appointment – when the cup is given to him and the rules explained (DO: wank in the cup, DON’T: get it in your eye), then he would need to provide the sample on a Wednesday morning to be sent off to the labs that afternoon.
Dave doesn’t actually know about wanking in a cup on a Wednesday morning yet.
The doctor was informative but not at all patronising. For instance, he said the SA sample would need to be done after 3 days of abstinence but not longer than 7, and it’s down to us to work out when the timing for that would be. Because obviously I want most of his boys in ME over the next fortnight, rather than in a cup!
He also said that the purpose of my bloods is to confirm ovulation and things being peak when they should be. Because I know that I DO ovulate I don’t feel worried about that. My only concern is my LP. Day 20 is my norm for ovulation, and although my cycle is a nice and regular 30 day average, my LP varies from 10 days to 14 days, and that can add a couple of days onto my cycle length. I’m taking my prentals but I think I might look into other LP-lengthening tricks this month. I’ll also ask my reflexologist at my next appointment tomorrow.
In all honesty, I’m not worried about Dave’s sperm at all. And if there IS an issue, then diet and supplements will fix it I’m sure. But he eats so healthily at the moment, is a fit and active man, and the perfect weight for his height, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s been eating a lot of avocado lately (he must have researched something) but refuses to take pills or supplements because he believes he can get all that from a rich and varied diet. Fair dos. At least if there is an issue with his sperm then we have the option of him taking supplements to rectify it because he doesn’t currently do that.
The only thing I did disagree with the doctor abou, was his attitude to our ages. When I said I’m impatient (he smiled at that – I guess that part of me came across quite well!) because we’re both 31, he pulled a face and said that our ages aren’t something to be concerned about. I know that should reassure me, but it’s already been nearly 18 months and we both started trying to conceive in our late twenties. We don’t want to waste anymore time.
And that’s when my eyes started leaking. The little bitches, betraying my badass-ishness.
He sympathetically passed me the box of tissues as I had a teeny-tiny cry and said (in a bright and chirpy manner) “keep having lots of sex in the meantime to keep your bases covered and you may need to cancel these appointments anyway.”
I could have fucking kissed him for that!
So I worked out when I think ovulation will be and counted 7 days on from that. It took me to Thursday 4th May. Apparently the nurse only does blood tests on Wednesdays (fortunately that doesn’t fuck with my cycle… THIS time…) so I could pick a time between 8:30am and 1:40pm on Wednesday 3rd May. And do you know what? I didn’t even think of the implications on school at all. I thought fuck it. I need this appointment. I am entitled to have this appointment. And I will book this appointment. My boss has been very understanding of my situation (which is good) so I know it won’t be a problem to get cover for me. But it’s time I start putting myself first. If I end up needing more tests in the future and it interferes with school, then so be it.
So now I wait. And get excited. And a little nervous. And a LOT impatient.
But first I need to tell Dave that he will be wanking into a cup on a Wednesday morning.
I’m sure his response to that will provide entertainment for another blog post…
*To clarify, I didn’t like this woman because of HER and her personal bedside manner, NOT because she’s Portuguese. I’m pro multi-nationalities in the NHS. We are up shit creek after all, and it’s the EU doctors and nurses that are offering us paddles…