Meet Jackson Polyp

Let’s review, shall we?

After about a year and a half of more unprotected sex than a New Jersey teenager, three failed inseminations (including one involving a Starbucks bathroom… don’t ask), many expensive ovulation prediction kits, sperm friendly lubricants, Clomid, primrose oil, baby aspirin, cough syrup, desperation, thousands of dollars, periods of depression and a fantastically failed IVF, I’m still not pregnant. There has been no possible explanation… until perhaps now.

Dr. Smith (Not his real name. He is Italian though so maybe I should call him Dr. Smithoziti) is an older man and I’ve always thought very fondly of him. I had been seeing him for years as just my gynecologist and I always appreciated the intimacy of his office. It’s literally him, his receptionist, one bathroom and about two magazines. Truly. The same two magazines no matter what year it is. You don’t get lost in the shuffle, you get everyone’s undivided attention and you can read your favorite articles over and over again every time you visit. Apparently, Lady Diana Spencer is marrying some chap named Charles…

Dr. Smithoziti also happens to be a reproductive endocrinologist. When my husband and I weren’t getting pregnant; he seemed to be an ideal doctor for our situation. He already knew me, and was well educated in the matter of fertility. However, as time has passed, it became clear that it was perhaps time to cheat on good ol’ Dr. Smithoziti. My husband and I have no discernable issues and Dr. Smithoziti seemed to have no insight. Perhaps someone else could answer the question of why on god’s green earth I’m not pregnant yet.

So, with feelings of guilt and betrayal, I made an appointment with Dr. Brown at a much respected fertility clinic here in New York City. As opposed to Dr. Smithoziti office, there is an entire staff of doctor’s, assistants, nurses and they not only more than one bathroom, but they also have more than two magazines available to read in the waiting room, recent ones too. Can you stand it?!?

Since infertility is their main focus, they have seen and continue to see a countless amount of couples that are having trouble conceiving. They are extremely blasé about everything. “You can’t have kids? Fine. Fill out this paperwork and then you’ll see the doctor. NEXT!” I kind of like this. It makes me feel less like a mutant.

Dr. Brown was very nice and from what he could tell from my blood work, I’m totally fine. My husband, despite having a slightly lower sperm count, was fine as well so the doctor shared our confusion as to why we haven’t gotten pregnant. Nothing like having a medical professional say something like, “Yeah… what’s up with that sh*t?”

As a lark, he decided to do a sonogram. Within mere seconds, he pointed to the screen and asked, “What’s that?” Now I don’t know about you but those are words you don’t want to hear when someone is looking at a picture of your uterus. I don’t want any mystery or surprise cameos in my personal area. This isn’t THE LOVE BOAT or FANTASY ISLAND people. It’s my vagina.

Somehow… there appeared to be some sort of polyp in my uterus. They immediately made an appointment for me to do a hystereogram the very next morning. Over a year ago, Dr. Smithoziti did an HSG with saline water but apparently, they aren’t as detailed or as informative as a hystereogram so it was time to get all Ted Turner on my uterus and colorize it with dye. Good times.

The next morning, we confirmed three things:

1. Hystereograms are not fun. I don’t care what the brochure tells you.

2. I have a uterine polyp that is taking up a good amount of space in my uterus.

3. Considering the size, it has probably been there the majority of the time we’ve been trying to get pregnant.

Obviously, this raises many a question. Why didn’t it show up on my initial HSG? Why did I just spend thousands of dollars and lose a year of my life trying to get knocked up when a big polyp was standing in the way of implantation? How in the holy hell did my first doctor miss this after countless sonograms? Was I on some practical joke reality show mocking fertility challenged women? I kept waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out of my uterus and say, “You got PUNK’D!”

Here’s the thing though and it may shock you: I’m not too upset. Yes, it sucks. This past year could have been so different and maybe I should be pissed at Dr. Smithoziti but it’s pointless. I don’t really know what would have happened had we learned about this sooner, there’s no guarantee that even after we get this polyp removed – we’ll get pregnant immediately and ultimately, there’s nothing I can do to change what’s already happened. Besides, if this is the answer to why we haven’t gotten pregnant yet, then ultimately, I’m grateful. Pissed but grateful.

All in all, I’ve been remarkably calm about all of this and I credit a good attitude, my sense of humor of course, and finally, my special migraine medication which has something in it to relax me. Ahhhhh, that’s the stuff… zzzzzz.

The lesson here is f*ck guilt. Get a second opinion as you simply never know. Sometimes, it’s really not that your first doctor sucks ass as much as it is you just need a pair of fresh eyes.

For now, my surgery is schedule for July 8th. After that, we begin again. In the meantime, I have named my polyp, “Jackson Polyp”. Anything taken up residency in my uterus MUST be creative.