Joey was lurking around tonight while I was making dinner, sort of getting in the way in a sort of endearing way.  So, since he was just standing there more or less in the way, I kept giving him jobs.

Press this garlic into the sauce, set the table, fill the glasses, cover the rice with saran wrap while the chicken finishes cooking.

He snapped immediately into action, and he was finishing his orders before I could come up with new stuff to make him do.  At once point, he took his lurking to the living room and leaned across the bar to watch.

“You know,” he said, “You should name the infertility part of your blog ‘Inconceivable’.  That would be pretty awesome.”

I busted out laughing.  While it really isn’t funny a funny subject, I just needed to lighten it up.

“I’m not doing that,” I replied.  ”But that’s hilarious.”

For the next ten minutes, Joey and I kept yelling INCONCEIVABLE! whenever we felt like it, which was kind of a lot.  And as soon as Joey finishes his homework, we are starting The Princess Bride.  We probably can’t finish it tonight, but we just need to give our brains a break.

So none of you probably care about whether or not we watch The Princess Bride.  Y’all are probably like shut up already and tell about your doctor’s appointment!!!

Fine.  I will.

Joey picked me up at 9:45, and we drove the 15 minutes to Presby in pretty much silence.  I hate going to Presby with every fiber of my being, and Joey gets all nervous taking me to Presby.

There was a flock of butterflies flapping around in our stomachs as we rode the elevator and walked the same halls we walked on May 14, which I just realized will be five months tomorrow.

Pardon me while I cry all over my keyboard.

We got in the same elevator we rode in when we had to have that emergency sonogram with the Perinatologist.  We rode up to the same floor.  We turned the same direction and walked the same corridor, and I glanced up through the atrium to the next floor and saw the railing I held tightly to when attempting to complete my “once around the ward” walk post-surgery.

Two doors down from my Perinatologists office we finally found the office for our Infertility Specialist.

Opening that office door and walking in was, for us, literally stepping out of a hallway old, awful memories and into hope again.

I was so worked up just from being where we were that I refused to talk to Joey.  He kept trying to be all sweet and rub my back, but I was tense and cantankerous.  (Husbands of infertile women really have to put up with a lot.)

We didn’t have to wait long, and before I knew it my doctor (who I will call Dr. Babyplease) had led us into her office and was asking for our story.  Unfortunately my records hadn’t made it to her before I did, but Joey and I were able to reconstruct what was wrong with me fairly accurately.  I’m so glad he was paying attention in all of those litany of appointments back in May, because I was absolutely zoned.  After the chat in Dr. Babyplease’s office, she led us out the door and toward an exam room.

In the exam room was an ultrasound machine.

She handed me the handy paper cover square and left the room to let me get situated.

I couldn’t stop staring at the ultrasound machine.  ”Do you think she’s going to give me an ultrasound?” I asked Joey.

“Kinda looks like it,” he said.

My hatred of ultrasounds is very hard to describe, but I don’t think it’s uncommon for miscarriage/infertility patients.  Every single time I have looked at an ultrasound screen, it has been to see something awful.  Just the presence of the ultrasound machine in the exam room was making me upset, actually to the point of tears.  Fortunately Dr. Babyplease was taking forever to come back, so I pulled it together before she walked in, but just barely.

I sat there, staring at the ultrasound equipment, looking at the external ultrasound wand and wondering if they’d ever get to use that one on me.

Then she came in.  After a quick exam, she flipped the switch on the ultrasound machine.

“You’re really giving me one of those,” I said flatly.

“Yes, it won’t hurt,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

So I lay back and she angled the monitor toward me.  But looking at an empty uterus is awful; I couldn’t do it, so I turned my head and stared at the wall.  And then, suddenly, I started crying.  Dr. Babyplease noticed and completely freaked out, thinking she was hurting me.  But no, no, she was not hurting me.  I just hate ultrasounds.

Ten minutes and a whole bunch of endometriosis measurements later, we reconvened in her office for The Diagnosis.

Without seeing the surgery report, she had to kind of guess at the severity of my Endo, but judging from what she saw on the ultrasound, the extent of my scar and detail of my surgery, she’s confident it’s moderate to severe.  (So encouraging, yes?)  All told, I have a 2-3% chance of getting pregnant the old fashioned way.  If I were to take Clomid, that would increase it to maybe 5%.

(Do you think there’s a 30 year, 35,000 mile warranty on reproductive systems?  Because I’d like to cash mine in if there is.)

I asked about IVF and she said that would be great for me, I’d have a 50% chance there.

Um, 50%?!  SCORE!

Joey and I jumped all over that and Dr. Babyplease exclaimed, “Well then….let’s do it!”

And so we’re doing it.  In a couple weeks, I’ll go back in for some blood work and to set up the timeline.  I know it’ll involve giving myself shots every day for several weeks (and what was I just saying about hating the flu shot?) and going under anesthesia again at some point.  Heck, it’ll probably mean several more pelvic exams.  (I’m shooting for 15 in 15 months, that’s my new goal.  I’m currently at 10 in 14.)

The entire IVF process is amazing.  I’m still processing so much.  And, on that note, I am going to go watch The Princess Bride.

INCONCEIVABLE!

(Sorry.  I had to.)