It’s officially on: I’ve got a date for Friday with a uterine catheter, stirrups, radio-opaque dye, and an x-ray machine. Good times. Fortunately, because an HSG is infertility testing, not infertility treatment, it sounds like my insurance will pick up the tab for this one. That, sadly, is what the high point of my day has become: my insurance paying for something. Wow, there is a reason I pay for this insurance out of every paycheck! Not that I’m a little irritated about the lack of infertility treatment coverage or anything (looks away while trying to whistle insouciantly).
A few days ago, I got blood work drawn. FSH, AMH, and estradiol are all being checked prior to my appointment with the RE. I’ve gotten so much better about blood draws and needles in general since adulthood, but there still remains in me the child who required two nurses, the doctor, and my mother to hold me down while a third nurse gave the vaccine just before I started kindergarten. I swear my veins know when the needle is coming. I’m lucky to have fairly decent veins, because one poke is usually about my tolerance limit. I’m not looking forward to self-injections (if that’s what the RE recommends), needless to say. I suspect at some point in this process I’m going to realize that I no longer have a fear of needles.
Mostly, I’m trying hard not to think about either results or the test ahead.