The accidental tourist

Well, well, what a very interesting and informative experience today's first visit to the RE turned out to be. Truth be told, I felt like something like an armchair tourist, abruptly plunged into the thick of things, into the action. All these months of reading as others discuss certain medical procedures, thinking "Huh" with an interested detachment. Then today, suddenly, it's me with the dildocam up the fanoir. And all the while, part of my brain is humming that surely, this is something that happens to other people, to serious travellers. Surely I am just an accidental tourist.

Here are some things I discovered today, in no particular order:

1. Wearing high heeled shoes with a complicated strap, hard to take on and off? Bad idea. I had to remove said shoes to be weighed and measured (still short, no discernable weight gain from the holiday- v. good.) Then I had to do it all over again when they sprung the ultrasound on me without warning. Never mind not having had a chance to spruce up the old bikini line, I could barely get my damn shoes off! Afterwards, it took so long to re-do the strap as I put the shoes on again that the nice nurse had to evict us from the room, with me hobbling along trying not to fall over.

2. In future, bring lots of change for the parking meter.

3. The waiting room at our clinic is a treasure trove of magazines. Lots and lots to read- I may cancel my subscription to Fashionista Monthly. Even E. was impressed at finding an old issue of Guy Gadgets. "Look," he whispered in awe, "just three years ago, my Palm Pilot cost £££Lots. And I only paid £Lots!". Yes, dear, that's good. Shut up and let me read about how tweed is the new black.

4. My RE shall from henceforth be known as Dr TickTock. Here's why.

According to Dr TickTock, assuming the diagnosis turns out to be "unexplained", the statistical average for conception is the same after 3 years of trying au natural as it is if we went ahead and did IVF. So in other words, if we tried for two more years, we'd be just as likely to get pregnant as if we did IVF tomorrow.

Did you just pause there? Yes, so did we. There were several things I took from that comment. Firstly, that the doctor is already leaning toward the "unexplained" angle. I mean, having gone over our medical histories today, I can see why he might be of the preliminary view that nothing is leaping out at him saying "PICK ME" as a cause for barrenness. But you know, that is not to say we necessarily want to languish in purgatory for another two whole years! Secondly, given that the current NHS waiting list for IVF is lingering around two-three years, it wouldn't surprise my cynical little self if that stat coincides nicely with the timescales in which medical intervention might finally be available.

Doctor, with that comment you appear, with all due respect, to be entirely missing the fucking point. It's far too early in the process to start settling on that happy co-out "unexplained". Plus, we don't want to wait two more years to become parents of our first child, never mind his or her sibling. That is the very reason why we sit here before you now, in the infertility clinic. TICK-TOCK already. Your moniker is now bestowed.

5. When lying/sitting in the dildocam chair, wand in situ, my hands immediately assume the "demure folded on chest as if expectant mother pose". Does everyone do this? Totally unconsciously, as if to nuture that oh-so empty womb. Empty that is except for the three, count'em three follicles already vying for supremacy. Two in my left ovary, one in my right. It was so nice to see them, I got a warm and fuzzy feeling. I felt like saying Hi kids! Wanna make friends with some cute sperm? Right this way, one at a time (or two, if you must). Everything else looked OK, as far as they could tell.

6. Not to be hung up on the whole ultrasound experience, but there is something decidedly odd about having your beloved partner stand at your side while a male doctor shoves a foreign object up your cooter and wiggles it around. Even in the interests of medicine, etc. I think E. was more worried about it than I was, though. Afterwards, on the drive home, he kept talking about how if we went to a private clinic, we might get a female doctor. I think at some point we need to have a chat about little it's going to matter as to who gets the tour of my nether regions during infertility treatment. To be honest, I was more disconcerted by the fact that during the ultrasound, the angle at which Dr TickTock was standing as he was wielding the wand meant that as I lay/sat in the chair-thingie, my bare right foot was sort of wedged up against his warm leg. Oh God, at least I hope it was his leg.

7. E. can do his next SA in a week or two, but there is a seventh month waiting list for my next test, an HSG. Seven. Months. Apparently this is due to the fact that they only do eight HSGs a week, and at least two people just don't show up because they got their period/got pregnant/forgot. Eh?

This announcement was followed by one of those lovely moments when you can read your partner's mind, because without missing a beat, E. and I, swiftly and in tandem, established where we can get the test done privately( (i.e not on the NHS), how long it will take (three to five weeks wait after referral), and what it will cost (couple hundred pounds). Check, check, check. All do-able.

As we were leaving, I looked back and saw Dr Ticktock pick himself up off the floor where he had collapsed under our barrage of questions, making a quiet note on our file: "Diagnosis: Willing to pay."