I went for my first regular OB/GYN appointment with my new (old) practice today, the first appointment where I am not a person trying to conceive.
I dutifully filled out all of my history paperwork and the dastardly Patient Portal interrogation that seemed to never end.
I put in all of my many procedures, my two pregnancies, and my zero live births.
And then I sat there, in the room wearing my open-to-the-front gown and my crinkly paper lap blanket for the modesty I've really pretty much lost along this journey, and waited for the doctor to come in.
I could hear him flipping through my paperwork in his office next door. And I could hear the exact moment where he came across my infertility memorial, my list of casualties, my war wounds.
I heard a big sigh, and then a quiet "oh, god."
It was strangely validating to have a medical professional be stricken by my medical history in this arena.
The first words he said to me after the usual pleasantries were, "I am so sorry for the hell you've been through."
It felt so good to have that pain acknowledged, to have that history discussed as atypical for its depth and breadth and sheer bad luck, to hear from someone outside of the fertility world that "you really couldn't have tried any harder," to be enthusiastically congratulated on the decision to adopt, and to have my wonky cycles thoroughly problem-solved for regularity with minimal medication now that conceiving isn't on the priority (or, really, possibility) list. A+ for sensitivity and thoroughness, new OB/GYN.
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