HSG=WTF?!

First of all, let me say how touched I am by all of your thoughts, prayers and support.  I haven't figured out how to respond to each of your messages (remember, I'm new to this blogging thing), so I'm making a blanket statement of saying thank you. I don't know how women handle these marbles rolling around in their brain while going through this process, so thank you for supporting my decision to get this out. 


With that being said, I'm writing this evening to discuss an experience I had via WD2's recommendation.  I can't really call it a recommendation...it was more like a vague suggestion.  The procedure is referred to as HSG, or as WebMD defines it: 


A hysterosalpingogram (HSG) is an X-ray test that looks at the inside of the uterus and fallopian tubes and the area around them. It often is done for women who are having a hard time becoming pregnant (infertile).


In my opinion, it's a long word to intimidate people receiving the procedure; therefore, subconsciously (and erroneously) lending trust to someone who can pronounce the word in its entirety.  Why don't they just call it what it is...a vaginal enema?  Ok, a bit graphic but tell me the truth so I'm mentally prepared.  Actually, I don't think anything can prepare you for something like this. I opted to have the procedure because a) I want to make sure everything is in working order before I shell out the cash for 'the shots'  or IVF; 2) my insurance covered it; and 3) WD2 suggested it.


I don't want to scare anyone considering this procedure, but I must inform you of my personal experience...in case you are on the fence.  First red flag, my doctor told me this procedure would take place at a technician's office.  I didn't like it when she said it, but I figured...Harvard grad.  So I followed her direction and on Christmas Eve, I went to the 'technician's' office for my procedure.  Mind you, they are located directly across the street from a hospital in a strip shopping mall that has been there since I was a little kid.  The office assistants were dismissive and unfriendly; i.e.: 


'Check in at the computerized self check-in kiosk, stupid!;' 


'Please have a seat for 30 minutes until someone calls you back, stupid!;' 


and...my favorite, 'Please have all your belongings gathered by the time I call you so I don't have to hold this door open longer than 30 seconds, stupid!').  

By the time it was my turn, I get passed off to a nice nurse who is kind, but I chalk up in a nano-second she has this conversation about 20 times a day.  She escorts me back to a room I equate to a walk-in beer cooler as she continues her witty banter and ushers me towards the bathroom to take off my clothes.  Here I am informed the person administering this test will be a male.  Now...I don't want to slam the male race because..well, like most of you, I like them and want to keep them around.  However, when it comes to the vagina, I equate their knowledge of it to their knowledge of the female psyche...they find it confusing and hard to figure out.  There is no reason why a man should be conducting this procedure.  But I think to myself, I'm naked (vulnerable), my (Harvard grad) doctor recommended this place, he's probably done this a million times.  Sometimes I think its best to listen to that annoying voice in your head that's saying, 'Hey!  Get the HELL out of here!!!!!'


Anyway, as I sit in a freezing cold chair in my paper robe next to the metal slab I'm about to climb upon, I call my sister to reminisce about the day she gave birth to my first niece.   I made this phone call because they wouldn't let my husband back in the morgue room with us.  I knew if it was anyone that could take my mind off what I was about to experience, it was her.  In the middle of our conversation the 'technician' came in.  Obviously, perturbed by my being on the phone, he gave me the look and went to the prep area.  I quickly got off the phone (I'm always intimidated in situations like this), and obliged when the nurse/comedienne motioned me up on the table.  So...I lay down on this freezing slab.  She places a pillow under my lower back so as to put my uterus at a slant.  They are about to open me up with that clamp thing they perform pap smears with (it looks like a duck bill), insert a catheter and slowly inject dye into my uterus.  What they are looking for is the dye to fill up the cervix and flow into/out of the fallopian tubes without interruption.  So...as I uncomfortably widen my knees for this completely unpersonable 'technician,' he begins to insert the duck bill.  As I expected, he was rough and unfamiliar with the vagina.  It was painful just getting to the expansion point.  I was ready to go home.  Seriously...I almost sat up and said 'nevermind' then I thought...Eye on the Prize.  The entire procedure took about 15-20 minutes.  It was painful and completely uncomfortable.  Was it tolerable?  Yes, but will I do it again? Not unless I'm forced.  


Well, the results were, not a single drop of dye entered my fallopian tubes.  Not a single drop!   He even had me rock side to side in hopes it would somewhat flow to my tubes.  NO!  Not a drop in either tube! 


As my face turned to disappointment, he proceeds to remove the catheter which immediately relieves the discomfort and begins to tell me how I could've had an infection at some point in my life that caused this, or something else I did to myself made this happen.  I quit listening to this bag of wind and decide to wait until Monday to speak to my doctor before taking anyone's ('technician') fine, forensic analogy.


As I cleaned myself up, I fought back the tears.  Really?  Another setback?  What now?...are my thoughts.  I put on my clothes and walk out to the waiting room.  Poor hubby...as he's gathering his belongings, I begin to get irritated because I'm about to cry.  While it takes him longer than 30 seconds to stand up (stupid), I toss something insulting at him, and walk out of the building and get in the car.  Of course he immediately follows, still packing his computer bag as he's walking out the door.  The look on his face.  And the tears start to flow. 


[I know this sounds all so negative and scary, so for that I apologize.  I can tolerate a lot when it comes to doctors and dentists.  It takes a lot to get me worked up in these situations because I'm usually the type that understands the necessity of what I'm going through.] 


I saw my doctor a few days later and she said it's possible my vagina didn't like the procedure (imagine that), it angered her, and my fallopian tubes clamped up, not letting anything through them.  My options are 1) to have the procedure again, but this time she would perform it and speak gently to my uterus so it responds better (my first thought was why didn't you do it in the first place?); or 2) have the surgery where they make a few small incisions in my belly region and go in with a camera and a couple small instruments to see if the fallopian tubes are actually blocked (caused by something I did to myself, of course).  If they are blocked for some reason, they will attempt to open them.  


I have opted for the surgery.  I figured if I did the WTF procedure again and the result was the same, I would have to go the surgery route anyway so I'm skipping a step.  


So tomorrow I go in for this procedure.  I know this may seem sudden and drastic, and I'm a little concerned about my decision but I want to make sure everything is ok so I can proceed with our plan.  Please say a little prayer for me...I'm a little nervous.  I hope I'm not confusing logic with zeal, and looking forward to good news.  I will be home/in bed all weekend so I will keep you abreast of the outcome.


As always, stay tuned and thanks for stopping by!