The strangest thing about my ultrasound this morning was that they kept not telling me what to do next, as if I already knew. The doctor and the tech both introduced themselves when they arrived, and said lovely things as they left, but no one told me it was time to put my clothes on, take the form no one had pointed out to me, and pay my $20 at the desk. I don't think they see many patients new to fertility clinics.
What I know right now: my hormone levels are fine, my ovaries appear to be producing follicles, and I still have cysts on my ovaries.
What I don't know: whether the cysts really are endometriomas (the tech said they "weren't typical") or whether I have fluid in my fallopian tubes. According to the nurse who called me several hours later, the doctor has reviewed my scans and wants to talk to me tomorrow. It's the grownup version of being called into the principal's office. Nothing good comes of doctors wanting to talk to you. Especially doctors this expensive.*
Needless to say, I'm not exactly fine. I came home and cleaned the house because it gave me someplace to put my nervous energy besides down my own throat. I only appear settled now because I've consumed large amounts of Buffy season 7 and several hours worth of spider solitaire. It's only 5:30, so there's probably much more of it in my future. Anything to distract myself.
*They keep writing down the actual costs of my visits next to my $20 copay. I've already "spent" $1000.
{{{Pro}}}
Posted by: dale | March 27, 2006 at 02:20 AM