I (finally!) had an appointment with a fertility specialist yesterday. After all the kerfuffle of getting the referral, the basic bloodwork, the questionnaire, the right pharmacy, etc., etc., etc., it was a remarkably efficient meeting (I estimate it lasted all of seven minutes).
The first thing that struck me about him was that he was easy to talk to – very personable and professional. The second (and more powerful) impression I got was that he was kind- so, so kind. We got acquainted going over my exceedingly dull lab reports (yay for good cholesterol!), and he suddenly stopped his bustle and looked me straight in the eye and asked, “You’ve been trying to get pregnant for four years?”
My eyes met his and I nodded.
He paused, and said with compassion, “Four years is a long time.”
“…Yeah,” I replied. We both nodded, and continued our conversation.
I didn’t expect that – every doctor (even the good ones) I’ve ever been to before was offensively nonchalant about our inability to conceive. I expected professionalism, competency, possibly antagonism and smug superiority, but I didn’t expect understanding or kindness.
Near the end of those seven minutes, he looked at me again and repeated, “Four years is a long time.”
Yeah. It really is.