A Visit to the Fertility Doctor

This is my first post in a few days. I have been living in the dark side since Sunday afternoon. The dark side is an angry, irritable, and negative place. This trip to the dark side, based on my own self-assessment, was brought on by my 3rd round of fertility medication - specifically Clomid.

After two failed rounds, meaning the drug did not cause ovulation, I am now on the highest allowable dosage of the medication. When my Obgyn's office called me to tell me that the 2nd round of the drug was not effective, they told me I had three options. 1 - I could go up to the highest dosage and do another round. 2 - They could refer me to a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE aka Fertility Doctor). 3 - We could do both.

We chose to do both.

We really, really, really want to have a baby.

Yesterday, right smack in the middle of round 3 of Clomid, we went to meet the Fertility Doctor. To sum up the visit in one word: overwhelming. The doctor was fabulous. He founded the most prominent fertility clinic in central Ohio. He informed me that "Clomid is a crappy drug". It is supposed to trick your brain into producing the estrogen needed to make you ovulate, but in the mean time it screws with every other part of your reproductive system - which, is kinda important if you are trying to get preggers.

Dr. Fertility then laid out our options. Shots. Shots to help my body form the follicle that will give birth to my egg. Shots to tell my follicle when to release the egg. Shots that I have to give myself. OMG. How did I get here? In this place where I finally have everything I want in life - an amazing husband, a good job, a nice house in a nice neighborhood, two wonderful little boys - everything I have ever wanted. Except for making a baby with my husband.

In addition to the shots, there will be tests. Tests to make sure my fallopian tubes are open. Tests to make sure my follicles are growing. Tests to find out when I am ready ovulate. Oh, and blood tests. Lots of blood tests.

Yes, I will pay ridiculous amounts of money for these shots. Yes, I will fight with my insurance company, the pharmacy, and the billing office trying to work out all the details of my payments. Yes, I will be paying to get poked, pricked, and prodded.

How did I ever wind up in the place where my body won't work for me?

My husband was very excited after the visit. "We have a plan now!" he says. I was less than thrilled. My husband is not the one missing goobers of work to attend doctor appointments at the drop of a hat. My husband is not the one fighting with the insurance company. My husband is not the one taking the hormones that turn you into a Royal B*tch. My husband is not the one whose going to get poked and prodded. My husband is not he one going to give himself shots 8-14 days a month.

And he wondered why I was upset?!

Yes, we had a nice visit with Dr. Fertility last night. I think I am finally starting to come out of my dark place... I will do the shots. And get poked. And get prodded. And fight with the insurance company. And make arrangements with my job for lots of doctor appointments. Yes, I will do it. I will do it because, we want a baby. So badly.