Blasé, originally written October 9th, 2013.

See the disclaimer here.

October 9, 2013

I realized after I re-read yesterday's post that it came across all a little too blasé. I've had a few days to process what's happened but I want to be as real as possible about my experience.

As I mentioned, I had fully prepared myself to hear that I had a cyst of some sort. It seemed likely. You hear it seemingly often. When I called my fertility clinic's office and asked for a second consultation, I only mentioned the pain as an afterthought. I had called my regular OB to inquire about setting up an appointment and they had scheduled me to come in 4 weeks later so you can imagine my surprise when my fertility clinic called me back and scheduled me for the next morning.

I wasn't really prepared at all for what was to come. I mean, I had no idea what this appointment would consist of but it became quite clear when they shuffled me into an exam room that I would be having an ultrasound. Again, I was thinking cyst. I barely remember the ultrasound being performed because I was so intent on staring at the screen in anticipation of what he might find. He confirmed the appearance of a corpus luteum, which was a good sign that I had ovulated. And then he made a few comments about the size of my bladder, being large that is. He asked me to make sure I went to the ladies room afterwards and asked whether I had had a lot to drink previously. The answer: no, not really.

And that was that. He told me he thought I was possibly ovulating on the right side each month and informed me that he'd like to schedule me for outpatient surgery because he suspected endometriosis, which is generally hereditary. I was taken so off guard that I wasn't even able to properly formulate any intelligent questions other than to ask how soon after the surgery we could start trying. The answer: one month. Oh, and to protest by saying that no one in my family had endometreosis. I told him I thought that endo happened in women who had really heavy, painful periods and he promptly told me that he dealt with infertility patients. So that was that.

I dressed myself and proceeded to schedule my surgery (in 2 weeks). While the lady was on the phone confirming the date and time with the hospital, I was frantically trying to get in touch with a representative from my insurance company to make sure the hospital was in-network.

I paid my co-pay. I left the office. I wanted to tell someone what had happened so I called my mom and husband. Both calls went to voicemail. Then I drove to work. I told my boss I would need time off and threw out the bombshell story of our issues (the abridged version). Then I sat at my desk, in a complete daze, and completed some very unfocused work. The first free chance I got, I started googling away at what endometriosis was and how to treat it, what the laprosocopy would involve and what recovery would be like. The more I read the more and more I felt shaky about the whole ordeal. Soon I was fighting back the tears telling myself over and over again, "You cannot cry at work. You cannot cry at work." I had so many mixed feelings swirling around in my head that I couldn't get a hold on. What? Wheat bread is bad for you if you have endo. Green tea is good? But wait, green tea is bad for MTHFR.

And then I went to the bathroom like the Dr. had instructed. And.. nothing. I didn't even have to pee. I called the office and notified them on a voicemail of my lack in...er.. progress in that area. Now not only was I crazed about googling surgeries and diseases but I was adding enlarged bladder to my list.

When I finally got home after the longest day of work ever, I spoke to my husband about all of my fears and let those pent up tears flow freely. He was great at reassuring me. He's been great at reassuring me through this whole process. Sometimes too good. Sometimes I think it's easier for him to be optimistically positive with nary a worry because it's not his body. Sometimes I get angry at him for not letting us try earlier for a baby. Maybe if we hadn't had to wait until he was ready, we wouldn't be in this situation. But alas, that is just my frustration being targeted at the wrong person. I'm really just angry with my body and God for not allowing things to go the way I want them.

And so this is where I find myself now. Waiting. Waiting for answers. Still stuck somewhere in the middle.