Saturday, September 17, 2011

Running up that Hill

I had the follow up Echovist a couple of weeks ago. I have a uterine polyp that is totally benign but they won't start fertility treatments until it is removed because it could interfere with a normal pregnancy. We have to make sure the coast is clear before we take extraordinary measures to avoid having those efforts thwarted by a preventable miscarriage. I also have to fight with my insurance company to get an answer on whether or not they'll cover the "very expensive" drugs I'll need for the fertility treatments.

I can pay a fee to jump the queue and have the procedure done in a clinic rather than a hospital. Since I've already been waiting for weeks to hear back about an appointment date, I guess that's what I'll have to do. There's a rant somewhere in my loins about two-tiered health care in a provincially-run system, but I'll save that for later. You may or may not be surprised by my feelings on the matter and I don't want to detract from the point at hand, which is that I hate the idea of having another surgery.

During a routine ultrasound while I was pregnant, they found a benign growth that was growing faster than the baby. Soon they'd compete for the same space, and the odds of the baby winning were slim. So at 19 weeks I had surgery to remove it, with the understanding that we could lose the baby but prevent a hysterectomy so we could try again. We now know and love that baby as The Parasite, so everything turned out OK but it was the most terrifying experience I have faced to date.

A little later on in the same pregnancy, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I managed it just fine without insulin and if I knew then what I know now I would have challenged the medical recommendations more. I didn't so I went along with the invasive, inconclusive monitoring and was induced at the recommended time for GD patients. And my labour story ended in more surgery.

The battle scars are faint, but they're still there. Now I face the prospect of another war wound for a baby that doesn't exist yet. We are good and loving parents who face an uphill battle every time we try to grow our family. Meanwhile right now, someone, somewhere is hovering over a toilet and peeing on a stick, muttering "Oh fuck, please don't let it be positive. He said he'd only put it in for a minute!" They're praying to a God they haven't spoken to in years to ensure the thing *I* want most doesn't happen to them. Time and again I learn the lesson that life just isn't fair.

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