Flotsam

Wednesday Scott and I had our “Comprehensive Appointment,” which included an ultrasound and sonohistogram for me, consent signings, and a meeting with the clinic’s financial coordinator. Scott has never been present for my ultrasounds before, so I was looking forward to showing him the wand that sees more action than he does and giving him a stirrups-eye view of the process. Because this was my official pre-IVF ultrasound, Dr. Doctor did it herself. The right side went well—eleventy thousand follicles or so, all ready and waiting to drink up the urine of menopausal nuns. My left ovary, however, was nowhere to be found.
Now, this particular ovary has always been a troublemaker, difficult to find and terribly lazy about producing follicles, but this was the first time that it had disappeared entirely.
“It has to be there somewhere,” I said nervously, “I would have noticed if it fell out.”
Dr. Doctor helpfully inquired as to whether I had woken up recently with any new scars, perhaps after being the victim of an organ thief. I glared at her.
“Oh well,” she said finally, giving my tender insides one final, fruitless poke, “We’ll have to find it when you start stims, but we won’t worry about that yet.”
Guess who is already worrying about that.

Next was the sonohistogram. The first stumbling block was, again, the inability to find a crucial piece of my anatomy—namely, my cervix. My cervix has been described by various providers as “tipped” “tilted” “backwards” “waaay in there” and “down and to the left,” so again, this wasn’t exactly unexpected. Expected or not, it was unpleasant. Specula are not really meant to be used to dig ferociously at the back of a girl’s vagina, wrenching painfully from side to side like a periscope. Scott began to look pale. I began to wonder whether my cervix had run off somewhere with my left ovary—a booze-fueled night in Tijuana? The dog races?
“There it is!” Dr. Doctor said finally, “Down there!”

The sonohistogram itself was of two parts. First, Dr. Doctor threaded a catheter into my uterus to measure it. This was fine until she presumably hit the uterine wall and I hit the ceiling.
“Eight centimeters,” she informed the nurse while I tried to stop panting. I began to worry about the embryo transfer, during which a catheter will similarly be introduced to my uterus, this time carrying $10,000 worth of embryos. They like to avoid having the uterus contract during that procedure, and I was fairly certain that had any embryos been in the catheter during this little measuring exercise they would have been expelled with enough force to puncture the far wall of the exam room. I was assured that the catheter used for embryo transfer is smaller, and ultrasound guided, and that there will be Valium coursing through my veins to lull my smooth muscle into an accommodating stupor.
The second part of the sonohistogram involved injecting saline solution through the aforementioned catheter in order to expand my uterus and get a look at its lining. This part was crampy, but the cramping was largely alleviated by the novelty of seeing my wee uterus expand on the ultrasound screen. I don’t mean to be immodest, but my uterus is adorable. Dr. Doctor printed out some ultrasound pictures, and I had to stop myself from asking for a copy.

After she was finished, Dr. Doctor left the room and I hopped off the table and got dressed, donning the completely useless panty-liner they provide to catch the saline. It was then that I noticed Scott looking a little afraid.
“You’re really good with pain,” he said, in a small voice, “I don’t think I would have liked that at all.” I assured him that it wasn’t something I’d like to make a habit of, either, but he remained impressed. I highly recommend bringing a squeamish husband with you to your next procedure. I am pretty sure that his awe will prove useful at some point in the future.

Dr. Doctor returned. I whipped out my list of questions.
“Your wife scares me,” she said to Scott.
“She scares me too,” he replied. I cleared my throat and launched into my first query, about a recent paper on activated protein C resistance.

To Be Continued…