So, I had my appointment with Dr Endocrine. This involved taking a bus all the way across town with my mother and navigating the maze of the new hospital. But once there, Dr E turned out to be a very pleasant person, very down to earth and clear.
"How are you?" he asked. "Not pregnant yet," I answered.
He then proceeded to talk to me about hypothyroidism, and how there may or may not be a link to infertility. The most exciting part was when he stood behind me, wrapped his hands around my throat and probed my windpipe area for a bit. I can't say I'd ever been throttled by my doctor before, so this was an interesting first.
In the end, he diagnosed me with Hashimoto thyroiditis and prescribed some drugs, specifically thyroxine. Which I will apparently have to take for the rest of my life. The pills may make me feel better, but may or may not help me get pregnant. But I figure anything that will make it easier to get out of bed in the morning is a plus.
We then had a little chat about Scottish politics and the shambolic state of the Scottish Parliament. Which was, I suppose, an interesting little digression from say, my ability to ovulate. He also gave me a nifty, badly illustrated little book on thyroid disorder, which he co-authored.
It was only when I got home and looked at the book and his bio on the back page that I realised Dr Endocrine is, like, a really big deal. I take some perverse comfort in the fact that the man diagnosing my condition is a leading player in all things endocrine. That he must know what he is talking about.
And that this is all paid for by the NHS, rather than me forking out great sums of money for a bit of strangulation followed by ingestion of drugs. I can't wait for my follow up appointment in 3 months time!