I haven’t had a period in, oh, 90 FREAKING DAYS, so I thought it might be appropriate for me to see my doctor. I suppose if I’m going to be attempting to get pregnant, I can’t very well accomplish this without ovulating.
I am heading to my Ob with a mixture of emotions. This feels like the first thing I’m really doing to “officially” acknowledge that PCOS is a problem for me. I need some outside help in order to get pregnant…there’s no way around it. It’s exciting to be taking this step and also scary because I don’t know the sort of road Hubs and I are in for. The whole “light at the end of the tunnel” thing is a great big unknown.
My proverbial tunnel will most likely begin with Provera, then a CD3 blood test on all of my hormones so I know what I’m dealing with. After that, I’ll have to decide on which course I’ll take: Metformin? Accupuncture and Chinese Herbs? Clomid?
Hubs is coming with me to the doctor. I think it’s important for him to be there for my initial exam, and question asking. I told him he may see me in stirrups which he wasn’t tap dancing about.
Hubs: “So wait…I’m going to be in a room… sitting next to another man… who is looking at my wife’s vagina?”
Me: “Yes… the other man being…my doctor.”
Hubs: Scrunches nose and makes a face: “Ew.”
He explained to me that if I removed all social conventions (like the fact this man looking at my vagina will be, I dunno, a DOCTOR), on a purely primal level all he sees is another man sticking fingers in my lady bits. His dry social commentary on my lady bits makes me laugh. It makes me happy that I am married to this man who will resist the urge to club my gyno, club me, and then drag me back to his cave–all in the name of fertility.