The first "P": Poking. All of my appointments are first thing in the morning with our clinic. Here is how a clinic morning starts. Wake up-drink a crap ton of water. (Chugging water college style really helps making your blood sacrifice to the infertility gods easier.) I get dressed-drink another crap ton of water. Run out the door, take a roadie of a crap ton of water. Get stuck in traffic and pray you do not pee on yourself. Finally, find a parking spot at the garage by the clinic and mentally debate on peeing behind the sexy minivan next to my car since I may not make it. I think better of it and just run like a track and field star to the building. One thing you absolutely do not want when you are a fertility patient are veins that are the size of a hair follicle. OK mine are a little bit bigger than that, but not much. The nurses play rock, paper scissors the minute they see my name on the docket for the day and whichever poor soul loses, they are the ones that have to stick it to me. A lot. Good thing it is the winter time because I look like a junkie. It also doesn't help I am on a heap of heparin injections which just makes my arms and hands look like either I am into some weird kinky stuff or I stole some money from a mob boss. I love these nurses though, they know, I know my veins suck so at least it makes for a good laugh.
The second "P": Prodding. Off come the bottoms, on comes the very flattering medical paper cover, dimmed intimate lights, Mr. Ultrasound wand with sexy goo and revealing wand condom rolled on, and a gallery of doctors. Insert one husband in a chair next to the stirrups just to make it a little more awkward for the both of us. This is what separates the men from the boys or in my case, the women from the girls. After 6 years of reigning on the stirrup throne, I can pretty much hold a full out conversation about weekend plans in front of a mob of doctors, with a 5+ something inch Mr. Ultrasound wand inserted, in a sexy paper skirt. Is that talent, you ask? No. I am an infertility patient. -- Chris aside: Should I be jealous of this Mr. Ultrasound fella?
The Third "P": Instant Poverty. Let's recap, you get poked, then prodded and then get hit with instant poverty. Damn my broken uterus! I am pretty sure I saw Chris's eye twitch and heard ever-so-quiet sobbing while stroking out that mutha' of a check. Talk about challenging your mental stability. The love that 6 years worth of this infertile life has for our future child is insurmountable. I put my body, mind, and financial future through infertility hell just for the chance to have a baby. For me, this is the hardest of the 3 "P"s. The reality of it all is that we are LUCKY! We were able to go through procedures, and many of them. So many couples do not get that chance. Lack of insurance coverage (very very few insurance companies have fertility coverage, cheap bastards!) More so, they do not have the nest egg to deplete to even get a chance. I cannot imagine how that feels being in that situation. To have a possible, fixable problem and no means to achieve that dream must be gut-wrenching. You can make a difference though. Check out RESOLVE for what you can do to help.