Like many others who have made it this far in the infertility journey, I’ve had my nether regions poked and prodded too many times to count. I tried counting; I even suggested to the RE nurses and ultrasound techs that they should implement a punch card system to reward repeat customers. No one else thought it was as funny as I did. Clearly, there is a serious lack of a sense of humor in the medical community around here. Not to mention a lack of creativity when it comes to marketing and customer service. (They don’t have to give away free ultrasounds. I’d settle for a free martini. Or even a hug.)
Today’s invasion of my lady bits took the form of a sonohysterography (SHG), or saline sonogram, during which a radiologist pumped my uterus full of saline while an ultrasound tech took pictures. The objective was to evaluate the inside of my uterus for potential problems, like fibroids or polyps. There was no reason to think there might be a problem, but my RE wanted to be absolutely sure before she transfers any embryos. Can’t argue with that reasoning!
To be completely honest, this test fucking hurt. A lot. I had an HSG (hysterosalpingogram) about a year and a half ago, and everyone said it would be really painful, but it wasn’t. It hurt like hell for about a minute, but it wasn’t more than I could handle and it didn’t last. The SHG, however, hurt like a mother effing alien trying to rip its way out of my uterus. The worst of it lasted just one or two minutes (one or two horrible please-dear-gods-let-me-die minutes), during which I gripped the sides of the cold, metal table as if hanging on for dear life, arched my back (not a good idea when you have all manner of medical paraphernalia in your lady cave all at once), broke into a cold sweat, and nearly bit through my lower lip trying not to swear at every asshole in the room responsible for my pain.
The radiologist was wonderful. I mean, I wanted to kill him at the time, but he worked quickly and clearly knew what he was doing. Talking constantly in a soft, calm voice, he repeatedly apologized for the pain, told me I was handling it like a champ (liar), and explained everything as it was happening. He even pointed things out on the screen, and kept calling my uterus “beautiful.” The best part was him telling me what his report would say (ALL CLEAR!), so I wouldn’t have to wait to hear it from my RE.
Instead of going back to work as originally planned, I headed home to my pajamas, warm bed, and percocet. Even with the painkiller, I had a good amount of pain and cramping for about an hour. But I’m back to normal now. All in all, I suppose it was a small price to pay for reassurance that my uterus is in tip-top shape for providing a home to developing human.