Just Relax... and Try Not to Fart

It's finals week over here. At least that's what it feels like. At this point we've already had genetic testing done, I've been recording and reporting my mentruation and ovulation patterns for a year and now it's time for the Big Kahunas. Today I had my HSG test done (I think the full medical name is hsgajshdfkaedfkjsdh) and at the end of the week Bryan goes in for his Spank-It test. It feels like the end of a long semester and once we get our grades back we'll know if we move on to the next level of baby makin' or get held back.

The whole fertility industry needs a makeover. An animal print throw, some sassy accent pillows, a smile here and there, chocolate in the waiting room-I'm not asking for much. But if you're going to tell couples who've been trying unsuccessfully for at least a year to get pregnant to "just relax" and "don't think about it" you could at least make sure said couple isn't sitting in a sterile waiting room in uncomfortable chairs reading Oprah from three years ago (or Parenting Magazine. Much appreciated). This leads me to my List of Things You Shouldn't Say to Someone Trying to Get Pregnant. Feel free to add your suggestions.

• Just relax
• Don't think about it
• Just get drunk
• God has a plan
• Well maybe God's plan hasn't started yet
• No, I don't think God is making you infertile out of spite because you blamed stopping up the Goodman's toilet on their son you babysat when you were 12.
• I can't believe you're having such a hard time. We got pregnant our first try!
• You just need to have more sex
• I'm sorry you found out I was pregnant from the birth announcement. I didn't want to hurt your feelings when you know... you can't... you're not...

Back to the HSG test. I was the only one in the waiting room at 7:30am (yes, an ungodly hour to have a catheter stuck up your hooha) and after a half an hour went by, I went up to the receptionist to ask if I could expect to be seen before my eggs shrivel up and die. She hollered over to her colleague, "Hey, Shirley, Infertile's been sittin' in 'em chairs fo twenny minutes. When she gonna go back?" To which Shirley hollered back, "I dunno. Tell her she jus gonna have to wait." Did I mention that their rolly chairs were right next to eachother? And that I was right in front of them?" Or that my name was the only one on the sign-in list? What level of confusion was there to lead them to believe that my name was not Lauren, but Infertile? I may need to reread that handy Privacy Policy brochure, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that referring to patients by their diagnosis is a voilation.

Finally, the tech-in-training aka Doogie's Little Sister led me back to the x-ray room and bathroom. She instructed me to strip down, put on a gown and wear the purple socks with grippers on the bottom waiting for me. I did as instructed and remembered to hide my undies underneath my neatly folded jeans. I have no idea why every time I go to a doctor's appointment I'm compelled to hide the fact that a) I wear underpants and b) that I usually leave my clothes in the heap they land in as I change.

I got up on the x-ray table and laid down on my back. Miss Doogie explained how to scoot down to very the edge (ahh that's why they gave me gripper socks. It wasn't in recognition of my delightful personality as I had assumed) and placed a bunch of towels under my pelvis so my hooha was now at the radiologist's eye level. I'm sure it was the highlight of her day. I was really relaxed as all of this was happening because my nextdoor neighbor had the same test done and told me it wasn't a big deal. I foolishly believed her. The next thing I knew, I was instructed to breathe in and out and WHAM! Suddenly. something went into me and it HURT! Instantly I felt strong cramps and a little shortness of breath. All I could do was concentrate on breathing and not spewing on Miss Doogie. Soon the catheter was out and... so was the doctor! I happened to turn my head and caught the back of her white coat in the doorway.

"Wait!" I called out, "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, ok"

"I'm ok?"

"Uh-huh." (so thousands of dollars in med school tuition doesn't include a course titled "A Complete Sentence: Patients Like Them)

"Can you show me on the screen?"

"No, you're fine. I'll send a report to your doctor."

"But wait! They had this test on Guiliana and Bill and their doctor held her hand and showed them her tubes and-" Too late. She was already gone and Miss Doogie was wiping up the puddle of dye that followeed the catheter's exit. I, too, instantly had a lot more respect for Miss Doogie. She led me back to the bathroom where and industrial sized pad was waiting for me.

"Ok ma'am. You'll need to wear a pad for the next three days to catch the rest of the dye and no sex."

"Huh?"

"The dye. It doesn't all come out right after the test."

"You mean, that stuff is still up in there?"

"Yes."

"What's it doing up there? Why is it hanging around? Did it go somewhere it shouldn't have? Just tell me the truth. You don't need to sugar coat it. Is there a clump of dye in my butt right now? Is it going to come out when I fart? It's ok, I just need to know."

No response.

Still no response. "Be sure to put your gown in the bin when you're dressed. You can keep the socks if you want. Have a good day!"