The power of hindsight

Yep, I am sharing yet another lovely snippet of sweet, sweet fertility memories. This time it’s my turn! I honestly forgot that this happened which is strange due to the enormity and weight of the situation, at that time. I guess I glossed over a lot of the bad stuff in light of the good outcome.

My good outcome. 

When you first realize that you have a fertility issue it’s like your whole world gasps in shock and never exhales until you're ready to do something about it. For me it meant starting to try for a baby. (Others' exhalation might come from another event, it’s a crap shoot.) After determining what Juanito was bringing to the party I had to undergo some invasion testing. More invasive than the inter-uterine ultrasound where they shove a dildo on a cord into your hooha and look and around and don’t have the common courtesy to show you around your own damn babycave!

I digress.

When it was decided that I would have this procedure mind you I was knee deep in a support group online of lovely ladies who walked me through every appointment, procedure and “what if” I could throw at them. I am forever in their debt. When I was scheduled for a hysterosalpingography (say that ten times fast!) these girls told me that an HSG is a common procedure in an infertility work up. Basically they flip you over, fill your uterus up with contrast dye like the cup that it is, lay ya down on a table, put an x-ray over your nether region and watch where the dye spills out to, preferably from you uterus to your fallopian tubes to your ovaries. Not on to the table. Basically making sure that your plumbing is intact and not clogged. Here is where WebMD started to fuck with my mind beforehand. So much of what I was reading talked about blocked tubes. I was nervous to say the least. (I admit I logically assumed that Drano would be part of the treatment plan. That or one of those metal snake thingies.  I'm very logical that way.)

I could not stop thinking about what it would mean if they were blocked. More money, more procedures, more time. My employer at the time was unaware of what we were dealing with (at that time and perhaps that’s another story) and was beyond reluctant to give me time off.

When the HSG was actually performed Juanito went with me. I wasn’t as scared of the procedure itself but more of the outcome. The appointment was at an office I hadn’t been at and while it was bright and clean and the staff was nice, not knowing my surrounding area heightened my nervous soul. We were taken back to a little room that was more like a dressing room than a doctor’s exam room which was because it was a dressing room. They had me change into a gown and go into a very cold room where the lights were dim and a huge metal machine dominated the room. Most importantly; Juanito was not allowed to go into the room with me. I had to do this on my own. Hold my own hand.

When the technician asked me to get on the HUGE table I had to use a step stool and then position myself on this metal plate, spread eagle and have her fill‘er up. (Ok, they don’t really flip you over and fill you up but it’s very gas station-y.) I asked to see the screen like I had some medical background and knew what was going on. I watched my uterus on TV. It was a proud moment. I saw the dye. I saw it move about in my lady parts and then it looked like it just flooded out into nothing.

I don’t remember much about the ending of the procedure. Except for: 1. I don’t know what fluid in my uterus is supposed to do so I was still scared. 2. Later found out that the contrast spilling out of my cooter did not have a color. (too much information? Sorry I warned you.)

Ultimately there was no problem with the plumbing. I think one tube spilled slower than the other or something like that but ultimately we didn’t have that as another card in our hand. We only had one. Me. I needed to ovulate. (oh wait I still do!)  Thinking back to 6th grade when all the girls went into Mrs. Jonas’ class room…that part is key to this whole shabang.