The wretched biopsy happened last Friday. There was a small blessing to having it on Friday. As I've awkwardly described on this blog before, I live in Pleasantville, but work and receive fertility treatments in Fertility Treatment Town (FTT). 90 minutes of driving separate the two cities. The biopsy was supposed to occur on Saturday or Sunday, but at the last minute, got scheduled for Friday. This meant that I could just skip out of work 20 minutes before the procedure, make my way to the hospital and be right back at work within an hour or so, instead of driving home on Friday, and driving back and forth for the procedure on the weekend.
The rest, my friends, was pretty much pure awful.
It started on Thursday. I had to go to that hospital, the one where our clinic is located, for a matter unrelated to my fertility. New psychology interns were being welcomed and I was asked to talk to them about my experience as an intern in the program. I noticed that I was very anxious to be back at the hospital. I always get nervous about speaking in public, so I tried to explain away my case of nerves by that simple fact. But admittedly, I was also nervous about seeing a friend of mine who was scheduled to speak with me. I saw him last the night before I learned of the miscarriage and I wasn't sure if he had been told that I was no longer pregnant. I pictured a very awkward "you look great" statement, meant to refer to a pregnancy that is no longer there (and the ensuing embarrassment over the very unfortunate weight gain associated with it). Luckily, he had been told of what happened to me in late March.
I was nervous again on Friday, not surprisingly. I had a meeting at work, and something to write up for a conference I was missing at 11am while I would be busy spreading my legs a few blocks away. I took about 1000mgs of tylen.ol, knowing Dr. RE didn't want me to take adv.il. That was of little help when the time came for him to tear a chunk of my insides, quite unfortunately. When I finally was called (around noon), I changed and stepped into the procedure room. The nurse settled me in and went to get Dr. RE. Very suddenly, I became overwhelmed by the objects in the procedure room. The u/s machine, the pictures of embryos, the little door to the lab, the computer screen. The last time I was in this procedure room was when we had ultrasound one and ultrasound two. I just started sobbing and as if on cue, the doctor and nurse came in, my sob momentum too strong to make the ugly crying stop. The doc said he would come back later and left me there with the nurse to compose myself.
He did eventually return and my crying stopped long enough to get the procedure over with. It hurt like jaw (I am borrowing shamelessly from Roccie's colourful repertoire of expressions) and continued to be crampy for a good hour, although the pain evolved in a merciful decrescendo (also, thanks to the addition of 600mgs of ibuprofen). I'm not sure what possessed me to return to work after that. I had another sobfest in the car and all the way back to work and again in my office. An hour after I returned - where admittedly, I just hid in my office and prayed no one would call or knock on my door - my friend the speech and language pathologist saw me in the hall. She took one look at me and said I was to go home immediately. She then came into my office and packed my stuff. This lady wasn't going to take no for an answer so I just got the car and drove back to Pleasantville.
That day seems like another nightmare in the series of nightmares I've been having. I've been reflecting on my reaction and of course, being a psychologist, I realize that what got me was the environmental cues. Those are pretty powerful suckers when it comes to triggering memories and emotions. I also had worked very hard to shove down any anxiety or emotions I had about the procedure to the dorsal chambers of my heart so that I could just not deal. Well, had I been this woman's therapist, I would have reminded her that things catch up, no matter how far back the emotions are shoved.
I asked about my lining, since it had seemed to displease him so in the past. He told the nurse 8.65 during the u/s, and then when I asked, gave me a noncommittal response that I think was in the neighborhood of not bad. I have a follow-up appointment on Sept. 19 to find out the results. I am not expecting much out of that, to be honest. I'm putting my money on inconclusive. I guess dismal endometrial cytology would suck royally, but would offer a clear direction in our efforts.