As you may have guessed, we’ve decided that our time of waiting, healing, learning to balance, and preparation has drawn to a close. I’ve never gotten very far with any of our previous attempts at diagnostics, and so that basically means we start again at square one.
Step one: making an appointment with a gynecologist. That was today’s assignment, and it left me in tears.
(Sidebar: I notice I write about years a lot. I don’t actually cry that much!)
The problem was, I don’t have a gynecologist. I’m long overdue for a yearly exam, but I haven’t bothered. Because reasons. So in order to do anything at all, I need to find a gynecologist.
Finding a gynecologist is like arranging a marriage based on less information than a private Facebook profile. Given that all gynecologist are highly trained, it should be as easy as “Who is accepting new patients?”, but it’s not. My last doctor, for example, was a jackass, and I’m a little gun-shy.
Long story short: the receptionist was very, very rude and unhelpful. I was put on hold very abruptly, and she kept saying “Infertility” very loudly. I hung up in despair, as I waited to be transferred to a different department.
Isn’t this supposed to be the easy part?
(Note: if anyone from Brigham and Women’s is reading this, I’m talking about you guys. Do better. Seriously.)