It’s Time!

Doctors surgery age 14

Me: ‘Can you take my womb out please, it’s really irritating me!’

Doc: ‘NO.’

Me: ‘Dick Head!’

Doc: ‘Please leave.’

Me: ‘Fine! I’ll sniff some glue and suck it out with the vacuum cleaner!’

December 2010ish

I can honestly say that I have never been one of those women who longed for a baby. Small fury creatures were always much more appealing to me. Then something shifted.

It all started with a phone call to a friend.

‘Happy Birthday Jackie, do you fancy meeting for lunch?’

‘I am going to the hospital to get some more test results.’ she said

‘Is everything OK?’ I suddenly felt guilty, as we hadn’t seen each other for months.

‘My AMH levels are very low and I am scared that I might just have left it too late.’

‘What?’

‘So I’m telling all my friends to go and get tested.’

Tested!

‘Jack you’re scaring me, what’s AMH?’

‘It’s a test that lets you know how many eggs you have left in your ovarian reserve, my FSH levels are rubbish too.’

‘FSH? what the hell is that?’

‘It’s the follicle stimulating hormone, it’s the hormone you need to produce eggs.’

WTF…..HEAD EXPLODING!!!!!!!! make it go away… I just wanted to go out for a drink.

‘I feel like such an idiot, I was so arrogant, I just thought I’d get pregnant as soon as I decided I wanted to, but it’s not happening, I’m terrified I’ve left it too late.’

I didn’t know what to say, did I want to have kids? Maybe? We’d talked about it and then we’d forgotten about it, no real urgency but we were getting on a bit!!!!!!

For me it was all about getting the facts, I didn’t want to look back with regret, wishing that I’d done something about it, be reduced to dressing my cat up in baby clothes and pushing him around in a second-hand pram. My thinking was that knowing whether I could or couldn’t have a child would be a hell of a lot healthier in the long run than just wondering.  I was about to discover that I should have done it a little bit sooner. YOU THINK!

NHS hospital somewhere or other

So you sit for two hours in the waiting room, which is shared with the antenatal clinic, except that we are instructed to sit under a sign that reads:

chairs

I was a bit put out by this, as we hadn’t even had our results yet.

The women on my left looked at the sign and burst into tears. I picked up one of those overpriced toxic women’s magazines which was full of women of a certain age (Bloody hell that’s my age!) pouring their hearts out about how worthless they felt because they hadn’t Fucking got on with it!

When we finally got to see the consultant, it’s not the person we saw before. We could only under stand 20% of what she was saying … So we just caught the odd word like… ‘Large’ and ‘Surgery’ oh and ‘Cancer’ She can’t find my blood test results, which by the way is a test for ‘Cancer’ so she mumbles something about calling back in a week to get those, bearing in mind we had already waited 4 weeks not to mention the 6 months it took to get the Doctor to refer us in the first place… So give her a look that says ‘You better find them or I’ll shit in your handbag’ Thank God for body language. So she gets the hint leaves the room, comes back and then blames it on you because you have an apostrophe in your name, which is causing all manner of problems. ‘How about using my hospital number!’ I yell. So you sit there for another 20 minutes wishing you’d watched more Charlie brown then maybe your ear would perhaps be a bit more accommodating. Then she says you only have two options, ‘egg and spoon race’ or ‘crop rotation..…At least that’s what you think she said. We asked several questions but to no avail, as we couldn’t decipher her reply. We left feeling really helpless and frustrated. Good job there was a pub on the corner and look, it’s karaoke night!

Doctor’s surgery age 40ish 

Once upon a time I had the perfect NHS GP, he was down to earth, friendly, he got things done and quickly, he was always available. Things have changed, in the last few years since expanding his practice if you want to get an appointment with him on the NHS you either have to sleep in the rose-bush by the entrance the night before, or go in that morning without an appointment and feign a seizer. I am remarkably good at fainting on command I mastered it at school during tedious RE lessons. There’s only so many times you can empathise with that poor bloke being nailed to the cross, Jesus!

I prefered seeing him because I have had some less than ideal experiences with a lot of the other doctors at the practice.. I once went in to have a lump in my breast examined and the doctor I saw, rested his warm flabby stomach on my knees while he examined me, Yummy! That same doctor took a call on his mobile in the middle of my appointment and then waved me out of his surgery, saying ‘Don’t worry you’ll be fine.’ Oh I feel so much better now, I’m so glad I dragged my arse all the way here for that piece of wisdom.

After our disastrous experience getting the test results at the NHS sub-fertility clinic, I went to see my GP and explained to him that I couldn’t understand the consultant and he looked at me and said ‘Your not the first person to say this.’ he sat in front of me and wrote an email requesting the results so he could go through them with me.

Another 4 weeks later I called the surgery to see if the report was back… The insidious old hag on reception proceeded to tell me that they had come in 2 weeks ago.

WHAT! AND NOBODY CALLED ME!!

She said she would get the doctor to call me on Monday as he would be back from his holiday by then.

Monday came, I waited till 6pm that night, so after having waited 6 weeks for my initial results which were delivered by a consultant who quite frankly should have had subtitles appear beneath her, another 4 weeks to get the results back to my Doctor to be translated, I finally get the call from my Doctor, who said to me and I quote. ‘Dr Harris here what can I do for you?’ I was very angry by this stage, what could he do for me! Why don’t they read your file before they call you up. So I said  ‘I don’t know if you remember’…and I explained my situation once again… ‘Oh yes he said let me see, here it is, PAUSE………… your only option is egg donation or adoption, so now you know’ I was speechless, there was no compassion, no would you like to come in and discuss some options, nothing, and then he hung up.

So there we have it, we may never have a child, not one that we baked ourselves from our own ingredients; not even Jamie Oliver can help cook up this one!!

I would have been given more attention had I been an over weight smoker or a heroin addict, so I’m exploring the latter! I always wanted to try it I was just waiting for the right time, that time has come. Suddenly the incomprehensible consultant wasn’t looking so bad.

So I decided that if I couldn’t have a kid then a micro-pig would be an acceptable option. Your whole family decides to hold a meeting to address the situation, (in America they call it an intervention). They come over, bring food, talk about you like you’re not there, deciding what would be a fitting hobby for you to take up now that your life is going to be devoid of parent’s evening’s, extracting Lego parts from your kids nasal passages and removing porridge from the DVD box

So if you want to avoid the above.. Get on with it!

Next stop adoption!

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