Yesterday Lesa and I had our first visit to the Baby Doctor. This is the first definitive thing we’ve done to start TTC (“trying to conceive” as the bloggers put it). Up until this point all we’ve really done is talk about it. As we were leaving Lesa said to me “I feel like I’m being dragged into war with you as my guide.” I could definitely relate. There was a whirlwind of activity happening around us. We were shoved packets of information, and given a multitude of directions to follow, some now, some later. She was poked and prodded in all different directions. All I could do is relay information she missed and hold her hand.
Nobody seems concerned about Lesa’s mental wellbeing, only her physical ability to carry a baby. Nobody seemed concerned about the fact that Lesa and I are trying to become parents. Shouldn’t there be some sort of test? In fact, nobody seemed concerned about me at all. From a legal standpoint I was no more than a visitor taking up space in the tiny exam room. The doctor isn’t even allowed to give me information without Lesa in the room (seemingly giving permission). “Make sure to bring your medical power of attorney next time.” The doctor says. Another direction to follow.
Despite the cattle prodding and frenzied information, it was exciting. Lesa and I met in the parking lot of the docs office and exchanged cards we unknowingly wrote for each other. The waiting room was full of parents-to-be and parents. And babies, a lot of babies. Lesa and I currently live in a world that doesn’t include children, and I am often a little taken aback if they end up in my vicinity. It perplexes me how they can be so small and yet so demanding, and command the attention of everyone around. I’m holding out hope that the saying “you love your own kid even if you don’t like other people’s kids” is true. The exam room was like any exam room. Except there was a peg board full of baby pictures. If you didn’t want a baby when you came in that place of course you’d want one after seeing all the sweet little peg board faces.
The exam itself did not go as I had envisioned. I was expecting it to be more like the movies, where the doctor sits behind a desk with us as the happy couple on the other side, and gives us statistics on intrauterine insemination. Instead it was more like… a normal doctor’s appointment. The nurse took all the stats and asked why we (read Lesa, because I don’t count) were there. Then the doctor came in, went over all the stats, medical history, and announced “treatment.” In our case, Lesa has irregular periods, which we know because we’ve been tracking them for the past 6 months. I also knew, due to hours of research, that having irregular periods usually indicates some sort of mild infertility. Depending on the cause this can usually be remedied with fertility drugs such as Clomid. The doctor confirmed all of this, then put Lesa through a battery of tests neither one of us were prepared for.
In the coming weeks, Lesa has to do two more blood tests on specific days of her cycle. (Say yes to diligent tracking!). Then, test results in hand, we go back to the Baby Doctor, and get the second installment of “treatment.” So for now, we have to start getting good at waiting.
For those of you who care about cost, we did find out some useful information at our visit. For 2 sonograms and 1 IUI per month, it’s going to cost us roughly $750.00. In my unprofessional opinion, that’s about the average number of baby-making steps you’d do in a month of TTC. Add that to the cost of sperm ( 1 vial = around $600.00) and we’re looking at a hefty (but doable) monthly payment equal to a small mortgage, or a really expensive car. (There goes my new ski boat.) And, although all of that has to be paid out of pocket, all the lab work done before the monthly inseminations will be covered under Lesa’s insurance. (Thank you UT.) Which is great new as far as I’m concerned.