(Start with "Monday" if you can. You want to be well-prepared before entering "The Infertility Zone".) So what were we talking about? Oh right. How going for infertility treatments is like stepping into another universe. They all speak your language. But you don't speak theirs.
They know all of the words you do: "chair, hat, dog." But you don't know any of theirs: "Follistim, gonadotropin, hysterosalpingogram, icsi."
And you begin to learn their language. But you lose your mind at the same time.
When I first began treatments, I felt like I had just started a new job.
You know. That bewildered feeling you have because you don't know what you're doing and you don't know anybody and you're trying to learn everybody's name, and you're not sure yet exactly what your job is, and most importantly: Where is the nearest:
1) Candy machine?
3) Very private bathroom?
(The fire exits I'll figure out in a few months or so. No rush.)
Then three months along your new career path, you've got it all down. You have your favorite place to park, you know when's a good time to go to lunch, you have the software figured out, and have calculated precisely how much you can get away with before you'll get reamed.
Three months into the fertility treatments, I was still walking around disorientated. In fact, the further I proceeded into "The Infertility Zone" the more disorientated I got.
Before I underwent treatments, I knew that disorientated wasn't a word. A few weeks into it, I knew nothing.
The following is a reenactment of me at the reception desk, approximately three months deep into treatments.
"So, I have to come back again this afternoon. Could you give me an appointment card?"
"Does it have the address on it?"
"Who's my doctor?"
"Which way is his office?... Oh, right. I mean 'her' office."
"Do you give lollipops?"
"Do you have a dentist here?"
"I'm afraid I won't be able to find my way back later. Can I wait in the waiting room for the next six hours?"
"Do you have any appointments in your other office?"
"I'm trying to get pregnant. Do you guys help with that?"
"Do you have another office or am I thinking of my dermatologist?"
"Can I use your phone to call my husband? I forgot where I parked."
"Yeah, I know he wasn't with me when I parked. But he might have a suggestion."
"Yes that is my cell phone right there but I haven't charged it in a month and now I can't hear anybody I call."
"When they take my blood, can I get a Dora bandaid?"
"Have they called my name yet?"
"What is my name?"
"One more thing. Do you happen to know if I ate anything today?"
Listen I gotta go. I just don't remember where... I'll talk with ya again on Monday.