ok, enough is enough... what is going on in my brain? We found a new doctor who would see me within a week to read my results. I went into this appointment expecting the worst. I am sitting in the exam room for what seems like hours, when the doctor walks in. The actual doctor. Not a practitioner, not a nurse, the doctor... my new doctor. He reviewed my chart and looked at me with such a confused expression on his face.
"There is nothing wrong here! If you were my daughter, I would have never sent your for an MRI"
I am relieved, annoyed, frustrated... but still, confused.
What the hell. Nothing is wrong with me from his stand point, and yet, still no baby. He told me there is no reason that we should be having this much trouble and suggest that we get Ryan tested. A week later, we find out that every category that's tested in men came back bad, low, below average. Ugh. What does that even mean? My new doctor refers me to his grade-school friend, a top rated fertility specialist, who happens to have an office a couple blocks away.
Another new office, another set of paperwork. Our new fertility doctor wanted to meet with us together to figure out a plan. He decided that Ryan needed to get started on some vitamins and medicine to help raise his numbers. After that, he would be re-tested in a few months to see if there was any improvement. In the meantime, we should just continue to try.
The problem was pinpointed, now we needed a distraction while we waited. Since we were only a couple of weeks into our new living situation, we got to work. Imagine your grandparent's house... everything has its exact place and everything looks pristine even though they've had the same drapes for 40 years and the same couches since before you can remember. Now, open all the closets, look in the attic and basement and visualize all the crap that would be in every available space. This was a little bit different than usual. Papa was a collector. He collected anything from trains, to commemorative plates, to Christmas decorations and yard work supplies. He also had no organization in the hidden places of his house.
Looks like we found our distraction.
"There is nothing wrong here! If you were my daughter, I would have never sent your for an MRI"
I am relieved, annoyed, frustrated... but still, confused.
What the hell. Nothing is wrong with me from his stand point, and yet, still no baby. He told me there is no reason that we should be having this much trouble and suggest that we get Ryan tested. A week later, we find out that every category that's tested in men came back bad, low, below average. Ugh. What does that even mean? My new doctor refers me to his grade-school friend, a top rated fertility specialist, who happens to have an office a couple blocks away.
Another new office, another set of paperwork. Our new fertility doctor wanted to meet with us together to figure out a plan. He decided that Ryan needed to get started on some vitamins and medicine to help raise his numbers. After that, he would be re-tested in a few months to see if there was any improvement. In the meantime, we should just continue to try.
The problem was pinpointed, now we needed a distraction while we waited. Since we were only a couple of weeks into our new living situation, we got to work. Imagine your grandparent's house... everything has its exact place and everything looks pristine even though they've had the same drapes for 40 years and the same couches since before you can remember. Now, open all the closets, look in the attic and basement and visualize all the crap that would be in every available space. This was a little bit different than usual. Papa was a collector. He collected anything from trains, to commemorative plates, to Christmas decorations and yard work supplies. He also had no organization in the hidden places of his house.
Looks like we found our distraction.
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