The First P: Poking
For most patients going through infertility procedures, they will find themselves making almost daily trips to their fertility clinics. Most of the appointments are first thing in the morning. Allow me to share how a clinic morning starts. Wake up by your dearest standing over you ominously with 3 syringes in his hands. Contemplate if you are actually awake or of it is some kind of strange nightmare. Once it has been realized that indeed this is actually all a reality, the am injections begin. It is clinic day, so what do you do? Ah, lot's of blood work, time to start drinking water. As an aside, I have found chugging water college style really helps making your blood sacrifice to the infertility Gods easier. Running late. So time to frantically run out the door, take a roadie of a of water. Hopefully if you drink enough water they can actually hit a vein on the 3rd try this time. Get stuck in traffic and pray you do not pee on yourself. Finally find a parking spot at the garage by the clinic and mentally debate on peeing behind the sexy mini van next to my car since I may not make it. I think better of it and just run like a track and field star to the building. One thing you absolutely do not want when you are a fertility patient are veins that are the size of a hair follicle. OK, mine are a little bit bigger than that but not much. The nurses play rock, paper, scissors the minute they see my name on the docket for the day and whichever poor soul loses, they are the ones that have to stick it to me. A lot. Good thing it is the winter time because I look like a junkie. It also doesn't help I am on a heap of heparin injections which just makes my arms and hands look like either I am into some weird kinky stuff or I stole some money from a mob boss. I love these nurses though, they know, I know my veins suck so at least it makes for a good laugh.
The second P:
Prodding. Off come the bottoms, on comes the very flattering medical paper cover, dimmed intimate lights, Mr. Ultrasound wand with sexy goo and revealing wand condom rolled on, and a gallery of doctors. Insert one husband in a chair next to the stirrups just to make it a little more awkward for the both of us. This is what separates the men from the boys or in my case the women from the girls. After 6 years of reigning on the stirrup throne, I can pretty much hold a full out conversation about weekend plans, in front of a mob of doctors, with a 5+ something inch Mr. Ultrasound wand inserted, in a sexy paper skirt. Talent, no. I am an infertility patient.
The third P:
Instant Poverty. Let's recap, you get poked, then prodded and then get hit with instant poverty. Damn my broken uterus. I am pretty sure I saw Chris's eye twitch and heard ever-so quiet sobbing while stroking out that motha of a check. Talk about challenging your mentally stability. The love that 6 years worth of this infertile life has for our future child is insurmountable. I put my body, mind and financial future through infertility hell just for the chance to have a baby. For me this is the hardest of the 3'Ps. The reality is we are lucky. We were able to go through procedures and many of them. So many couples do not get that chance. Lack of insurance coverage (very very few insurance companies have fertility coverage, cheap bastards). More so they do not have the nest egg to deplete to even get a chance. I cannot imagine how that feels being in that situation. To have a possible, fixable problem and no means to achieve that dream. Want to make a difference? Check out RESOLVE for what you can do to help.
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C&C from MTV's True Life