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The "Specialist"

Chloe's first week at in her new home, our home...

So after having the gynecologist tell us that there should be no reason why we are not getting pregnant, and she is now going to send us to the fertility center. We were finally given the go-ahead to see the specialist, and if she couldn't get us pregnant, then no one could. I'm not sure I liked where this was going, but I was willing to try anything and so was Ben. After waiting for more time to elapse, which isn't a good thing in the world of infertility, and for the insurance authorization we got our appointment to the Fertility center. I love how the HMO gets to tell you when and if you are going to start a family. You know what I hate about the fertility center? Not only are there more doctors that need to hear your story but there is always someone in the waiting room that you know. You are trying to avoid them, act as if you don’t see them, and then you hear a screeching voice, “Marilyn, Marilyn, is that you? I thought that was you! What are you doing here?” What am I doing here, what do you think I’m doing here? At that very moment, you just want to look at her and say, “well my husband and I have been having sex like two wild rabbits, and yet we don’t seem to be able to get pregnant! Yes, that’s right we don’t know how to get pregnant, and we haven’t been able to. At least that’s what our family and friends tell us, so we thought the fertility center here could teach us what we are doing wrong! You moron! Oh, and why are you here?” But alas, as luck would have it the nurse calls you in, and you jump up and run to her. All the while you're holding tight onto your husband’s hand and pulling him along with you as fast as you can. Once you’re in the specialist’s room, this is where the real fun begins. Here is where she or he but it’s a she for us, and she asks you again; are you are sure you want to pursue fertility treatments. She goes on to tell us that you are “old” and that the celebrities you see having all these babies today don't really have them, and that they are using surrogate’s, and would we consider trying this route instead. She then tells us it is because my “eggs” are old after all and raising a baby with Downs Syndrome can be very difficult. Especially for someone my age! I was just exhausted listening to her try and convince us not to get pregnant. We did want to try, and we couldn’t afford not to. After all, it was costly to use a surrogate and as far as we knew our insurance would pay for at least two attempts or treatments, but not a surrogate. We decided to try at least two inseminations, but the specialist was determined to make it as miserable as she could. We sat there, and we listened to the doctor very carefully during this interview. As I spoke about my medical history and my family history, all she could do was make this moaning sound, and "Mmmmm," and she kept saying this several times. Finally, my husband asked her what the problem was. “Your wife has a complicated history. She’s what I call an elevated and high-risk pregnancy, and she could die during childbirth or even before that. “Die, what do you mean die? She’s fine, how could she die?” She didn't even look up from her papers and said, "from a possible stroke or even worse.” You just can’t tell someone like my husband something like this; I am glad that at the very least she took the responsibility.

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