I have a general distrust of doctors. Between my psoriasis, struggles with constant yeast infections (sorry tmi), unexplained fatigue and difficulty losing weight, our infertility, my c-section and more, I have found my experiences to be mostly frustrating and unhelpful. I have felt unheard and dismissed by a doctor more times than I can count. I know there are good doctors out there, I have been treated by a few for sure, but the majority of my experience has not been positive. When we met Dr. K for our first infertility consultation, I was relieved to feel like he really cared for and invested in his patients.  This being an incredibly sensitive and expensive issue, having a doctor that we trusted was imperative. Our whole first round of IVF was a really positive experience from a patient care perspective. So, when we got the letter that he was leaving our old fertility clinic and starting his own, an hour drive from our home, we really didn’t have to think too hard about moving to his new clinic with him.

I struggle to even write the rest of this blog because I was honestly so surprised by our experience through this last cycle that I keep second guessing myself, wondering if I am just being too high maintenance, or trying to place blame for our failed cycle somewhere. But, I’ve been examining my feelings for a few months now, and had discussions with my husband and some other people I trust who understand infertility and I know that I am not just being “high maintenance”.

From start to finish this last cycle was disappointing from a patient care perspective. I had emailed with my nurse letting her know when we wanted to start our frozen embryo transfer cycle and what transfer date we wanted. I belabored over that transfer date longer than I cared to admit, wanting it to be perfect. We were timing it with baseball season so trying to hit a due date that wasn’t too close to an away game that was more than an hour or two away was pretty tricky. We landed on a due date of April 20th, Easter 2019. I loved the symbolism of that date so much. It felt right. I knew it was unlikely that the baby would actually be born on that date, but I loved that it was going to be the due date that we would announce and circle on our calendars and tell the world.  Our nurse emailed me back confirmation that we were good to go and the calendar of appointment dates, medication schedules, etc. A few days before our first appointment, I called the office to see what time my appointment was that day. My nurse was on vacation and it took a few days for someone to get back to me. Apparently I hadn’t been scheduled on the calendar for that day. They got me in anyway and we got the ball rolling. Everything was going great with my meds and my hormones and my lining and all that jazz, so on my last appointment before our transfer date, I asked another nurse (because mine was gone again) what time we needed to be there on transfer day- Friday. “Oh”, she said as she scrolled through her screens, “Dr. K is not going to be here on Friday, we need to move your transfer up to Tuesday.”

::Deep breath::

Transfer day was also specifically chosen because it was a Friday and gave me the weekend to be off my feet. Tuesday was the day before I went back to work for the school year. Not exactly ideal timing. I quickly called my husband to make sure his schedule would allow for Tuesday and after some rearranging we made it work. Again, trying not to be pushy or needy or cause an issue, we moved forward with the new transfer date. These things happen.

Transfer day came and we were greeted by the world’s grumpiest medical assistant. Her comment to me as she walked us back to our room was “you’ve done this before right? so I don’t need to really explain it”…ummm I did this almost 4 years ago lady. I wanted a valium because, hello- anxiety, and had to have Jordon go searching for someone to give it to me. When they told us to pick any radio station we wanted and we picked country music, our nurse apologized to Dr K for having country on… (that’s really all we needed to know about who we were dealing with haha #countryforlife) By the time it was all done, I was having to coach my husband to not to call this chick out on her bad attitude and cause a scene in the hallway.

Again I told myself “deep breath- it’s not that big of a deal. It’s okay”

My nurse had been emailing me my lab reports this whole cycle and I didn’t think much of it, but then she e-mailed me the results of my first beta. I had low numbers, but I had low ones with Austin too so I didn’t totally freak out- and then she e-mailed me again with the final answer. No, we weren’t pregnant. I hadn’t thought to ask for a phone call, but looking back now, a phone call would have been nice for news like that. Especially because I can’t exactly control when I will see an e-mail pop up. I saw that email come through at about 1 pm, the middle of my school day. If I could have chosen when to pick up the phone or listen to a voicemail, I probably could have avoided crying on the floor in the corner of my office so that no students would peek in the window and see me. It wasn’t a great time to go over their college essays with them.

The icing on the cake was that it took me almost 6 weeks of calling or emailing almost every other day to get the SIMPLE paperwork I needed to submit to our Flexible Spending Account to be reimbursed for part of this cycle. SIX WEEKS!

Still, I tried to push these feelings aside, chalk them up to a busy office. When I gathered my follow up questions in an e-mail a month later to ask Dr. K and received a very brief, to the point and rather dismissive email back that lacked any empathy, I knew we needed to look elsewhere to continue with our fertility treatments.

In November we had a consult with a new doctor at our old clinic. He sat down and took the time to really talk out our options, what things we might want to look into before another cycle, etc. The nurses seemed to be very detail oriented and friendly. Just this week I completed an endometrial biopsy and saline ultrasound per our new doctor’s suggestion. Guess what, I’ve got scar tissue hanging out in my uterus. It is likely from the c-section I had with Austin and it is quite likely a big factor in why our last embryo did not make it.  I’m so glad that we sought another doctor and another opinion. Dr. K was not going to take these steps. We would have had another failed cycle with him. It’s truly infuriating.

So here is my take away, my one piece of advice for anyone out there fighting through infertility, or any medical issue, really:

There is no such thing as being high maintenance when it comes to your health and your body. You alone are responsible for it. You alone know what you need, what you don’t need, what feels okay and what does not feel okay. And you not only have the right to speak up and ask for what you need, you have the obligation to do so. No one else will do it for you. And if you do not have a doctor who will listen to your needs and respond in a proactive, empathetic and professional way….find someone else.   Listen to your gut and do not be afraid to speak up. As we tell our son “you are the boss of your body.”

I don’t know why I played small. Why not wanting to be an inconvenience felt more important. Why I chose to silence myself and accept less than I deserved. I do know that I will not be making that mistake again.

XO,

Nicole