The brain and the womb

Hi. We're back from South Africa. No, we didn't visit Tertia, she doesn't know us from jack so that might be weird plus it was a complicated trip and we had little unplanned time. Yes, I am still jetlagged.

Ok. So.

Hysteroscopy went fine, whatever that gunk was she pulled out, it wasn't retained pregnancy material. So no solution to the mystery of the annoying bleeding other than it doesn't seem to be related to my generally problematic woo and woo-parts.

I finally, after about 4 months of trying to navigate two insurances, had an appointment with a real psychiatrist yesterday. My GP had put me on Zoloft in March, and while between that and the weekly therapy I was really happy to see a general turnaround in my anxiety levels and general coping ability plus sleep, I was not comfortable not having someone specifically monitor my meds.

I was all set to tell him once I got into his office that his nice and competent office staff unfortunately are almost impossible to understand on the phone when I walked in and he greeted me in the same thick Russian accent and broken English. Oh well. Plus it turns out he's a sleep specialist and his office is a sleep clinic. This was not a good start to things and it only got stranger.

To cut to the chase, I am not depressed, I am "upset, angry and worried" about the infertility. And I need to have my "physiology" tested (guess how you do this? spend a night at a sleep clinic). And did I know that a lot of infertility is not a "hardware" but a "software" problem? I started to get tense at that point, anticipating the "you just need to relax" line. So I interrupted him to give him a bit more history about the physical causes of my infertility. He nodded and continued in his original vein, then threw out a few possible theories about the value of just not thinking about it, and the possibility that either me or my husband could be dealing with reverse ejaculation or reverse peristalsis of the fallopian tubes, or just a rhythm problem that could be set right with a course of melatonin. All of this was accompanied by some nice little drawings that metaphorically illustrate how SSRI's are like a piece of metal with holes in it and other clever things.

So to sum up, I apparently had an appointment with the Eastern European psychiatric equivalent of Dr. Nick Riviera .

Other interesting things that have been happening inside my head lately include some trippy dreams about my teeth decaying or falling out, including a specific dream in which Al Gore and I head-butted each other's teeth out. Apparently this either means I'm anxious about change, lying to someone, or embarrassed, but I am hoping that it means I'll soon be growing a second row of teeth.

Now that we are back and mentally and physically unpacked from the trip, the next step will be to start trying to navigate the insurance and get going with a new RE. I have to admit, I'm really not dying to dive back in. My brain is definitely backpedaling on me.

In the meantime, happy, happy congratulations to DD on the wonderful new arrival!

Comments

[amanda]

Oh, man. I don't know how you put up with that psychiatrist for an entire session.

You know, I used to have dreams about my teething crumbling into pieces and falling out all the time. It is trippy. I have no clue why they stopped, although I can't say I miss them.

Good luck with the new RE!

[PiquantMolly]

I seriously always have dreams about losing teeth. I think it's the fact that I used to have a bridge that actually *did* fall out frequently. How's that for an unexpected pleasure?

Glad to hear you're doing ok, though I probably would have puked on that doctor.

[millie]

I wanna hear more about SA. Did you drink lots of tizers? Did you have a good time?

Do you have to go back to that doctor?

Best of luck with the new RE. I so know what you mean about having to deal with insurance and new REs. Never fun but hope goes as well as it possibly can.

[DD]

Like Molly, I've also had lots of dreams about my teeth falling out. Might be left over trauma from adolescence where my peers called me Gopher Gerkins - homage to my rather large front teeth.

So exactly when did being worried, angry and upset about IF become excluded emotions of depression?

I hope you have much better luck with the RE.

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