Wednesday, November 21, 2007
I just gave myself one of those giant shots in the butt with a two-inch needle filled with a viscous substance that takes about 10 seconds to slowly pulse into your body. Surprisingly, I have never done this the right way before. The right way is to sit down with an ice pack and numb the part of your heinie (I say heinie now. Along with tummy and potty.) that will be getting the injection, preferably while eating peanuts, watching "The Daily Show" and drinking a martini. This time, I did all that, minus the martini. Can't drink, you know (I'll take that communion wine, however, and I may enjoy it a bit too much). And my ass has never felt better! Soon, I will gently be laying it upon a warm heating pad in my bed.
I went back to the clinic Monday for the first time following my ectopic fiasco of the summer. The nurses and staff were all fabulously nice and compassionate. The doctor appeared indifferent, perhaps even annoyed. I represent a big, fat 0, in terms of the ultimate clinic statistic: a live birth. I am a walking reminder of his failure, and even worse, I am back in his face again, pushing my Sisyphus rock up the hill. Would it not have been nice for him to have called or e-mailed after my OB took over management of my ectopic, instead of just apparently forgetting I had ever been a patient of his? Would it not have been nice for the doctor I dealt with at the other clinic last year to sit down with me following two canceled cycles just to talk, instead of having her secretary cancel every follow-up appointment I made with her? Yes. It would have. If anyone finds in an IVF doc one of those engaged, compassionate healers you see on hospital dramas on TV, let me know.
I went back to the clinic Monday for the first time following my ectopic fiasco of the summer. The nurses and staff were all fabulously nice and compassionate. The doctor appeared indifferent, perhaps even annoyed. I represent a big, fat 0, in terms of the ultimate clinic statistic: a live birth. I am a walking reminder of his failure, and even worse, I am back in his face again, pushing my Sisyphus rock up the hill. Would it not have been nice for him to have called or e-mailed after my OB took over management of my ectopic, instead of just apparently forgetting I had ever been a patient of his? Would it not have been nice for the doctor I dealt with at the other clinic last year to sit down with me following two canceled cycles just to talk, instead of having her secretary cancel every follow-up appointment I made with her? Yes. It would have. If anyone finds in an IVF doc one of those engaged, compassionate healers you see on hospital dramas on TV, let me know.
Labels: IVF needle ectopic
