I’d like to think that even in the midst of this struggle, I maintain a certain level of self-control and politesse when coordinating with Dr. Salsa’s office. They are just trying to help us realize that elusive goal and I try to let them know that I appreciate that by being polite and courteous. There is hardly ever a need to raise one’s voice or be just plain rude. image: haxed
But, this credo was sorely put to the test this week. On Thursday, to be exact.
When I was at the office for my whirlwind of a visit last Friday, Nurse Chipper (as in she’s always chipper and happy and actually chirps) promised that she would have my IVF schedule ready by the following Wednesday. I called her on Thursday because I hadn’t heard anything.
I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, that she had forgotten to send it to me the day before, that she was just finishing it up and would have it over to me in no time. What I didn’t want to hear is what she told me:
Nurse Chipper: “So, I was looking at the calendar [WHICH WE BOTH WENT OVER AD NAUSEUM ON FRIDAY] and it looks like the lab will actually have to close the week that we had looked at for your retrieval, so we are going to have reschedule your cycle.”
Me: Silence. Inside, I’m beginning to feel that heady mixture of anger and disappointment.
Nurse Chipper: “See, the lab has to close for one week every three to four months for an inspection and this just happens to be that week.”
Me: “And they can’t move it?”
Nurse Chipper: “No, it depends upon the inspector. And, I knew that they were going to close it, but I just didn’t know when. But, now I do know.”
[What I wanted to say: THEN WHY THE F*CK DID YOU POINT OUT THAT WEEK AS BEING A GENUINE POSSIBILITY AND NOT EVEN MENTION THAT THIS WAS A POTENTIAL ISSUE!?!?!]
What I did say: Really big sigh. “I have the worst luck in the world.”
And, then it just got worse.
Nurse Chipper: “We can move it up so that we have a retrieval the last week of February.” [WHICH IS THE EXACT WEEK I TOLD YOU MR. X IS OUT OF TOWN, IN ANOTHER TIME ZONE FOR THE WHOLE WEEK.] Or, you have to wait until the end of March to begin stims and have a retrieval in April.”
[What I wanted to say: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS BULLSHIT!!! HE IS GOING TO BE SO PISSED BECAUSE HE SCHEDULED THAT TRAVEL ON THE ASSUMPTION THAT WE WOULD DO EVERYTHING THAT REQUIRED HIS PRESENCE IN MARCH!!! AND NOW THAT I’VE DECIDED THAT I’M READY, AND OH YEA, I STARTED THOSE G*DDAMN BIRTH CONTROL PILLS ALREADY, I DO NOT WANT TO WAIT UNTIL THE END OF MARCH!]
Me: “Like we discussed last week, Mr. X will be out of town that whole week. But, let me talk to him and see if he can move his travel schedule. I also really don’t want to wait until the end of March to get going.”
“Nurse Chipper: “Ok! Talk to him and then give me a call back so that I know where to put you on the calendar.” No sorry, no I should have told you that this was a distinct possibility when we went over the calendar on Friday, no oops.
And, when I tried to call her back that afternoon with questions that Mr. X and I had about scheduling, I’m informed she’s gone for the day. At 1:30pm. I appreciate that you work on Saturdays, lady, and I don’t begrudge you the right to have your time off. BUT FREAKING TELL ME SO THAT I DON’T GET EVEN MORE FRUSTRATED AT EVEN MORE INFORMATION THAT YOU AREN’T GIVING ME THAT IS KIND OF IMPORTANT.
How did it end?
Mr. X was able to move Heaven and Travel so that we can proceed with fireworks at the end of February, bless him and his boss. I was able to speak with Nurse Chipper yesterday morning and I now have that importnat 8 x 11.5 piece of paper with my directives for the next month. I have a schedule and I am on their IVF calendar.
I also managed to keep my temper in check with Nurse Chipper which I know will pay dividends the farther down this twisted road we get, and which I am pretty proud of myself for. I treat RE staff like I do waitstaff at a restaurant: with the utmost respect because they are handling something that is very precious to you and you don’t want them spitting in it!
But, I won’t lie to you and say it was easy. There was much fist-banging and cursing going on in the background with some temper-tantruming to Mr. X. Thursday night, though, I went to Bunco, braless and in my Scooby-Doo slippers, lost $3, drank too much wine and had a grand old time at it. By the time I got home, all I could think was, “what schedule?”