Like a good mechanic, a good doctor is hard to find. But fertility doctors seems to be a little bit different. The vast majority I’ve dealt with have been amazing: Very caring. Very dedicated. A few were arrogant asses. They still seemed to be excellent doctors. Just arrogant asses. Unfortunately, I’m not good with arrogant asses… and neither is my big mouth. You’d think by now we’d both be mature enough to just ignore them, but no.
It’s not just fertility doctors either. To date it’s happened to me four times. Once with a podiatrist. Once with a chiropractor and twice with fertility doctors.
The podiatrist was arrogant and a crook. As he worked on the callus I’d come in for, he told me about all of the other things my feet desperately needed if they were going to last until next Tuesday including creams he just so happened to sell and a surgery he just so happened to perform. As he finished off the callus, he asked how it felt to which I responded and I quote: “What? I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the cash register.”
The chiropractor was arrogant and condescending, a dynamic duo for me. When he came to fetch me out of the waiting room, he looked at my husband and me and asked: “Who’s going first?” Lloyd and I shrugged and the chiropractor motioned to me and said to Lloyd with a wink: “I’ll take the boss first.” Lloyd, knowing me as he does… I’m surprised he didn’t dial 911 the second I left the waiting room. I figured he’d just as soon leave breaking up a brawl to the professionals. The doc was chatting as he worked on my back.
“I’m sure you must have so much stress cooking and cleaning all day…”
“My husband cooks and cleans… I work full-time.” (Here it comes.) “…and you don’t have to talk to me like I’m an idiot. I speak three languages. One of them is English .”
As my head was turned to the side during the adjustment, I looked at the photo of his six kids and thought to myself: “Ugh. Some poor unfortunate woman did this man six times?” It’s amazing I didn’t say it out loud. Maybe I did. He only adjusted my lumbar not my attitude. (Not the people above. I have a big mouth not a cold heart.)
The fertility doctor(s) was the worst scenario(s). I went to one clinic for months. When I got to the second one, I tried to explain to this doctor that I’d already had 3 IUIs and that my follicles grew fast at the end without a final dose of Follistim. But he was half talking to me and half to a doctor-in-training and went on and on about how he had years of experience… whatever whatever and so I finally said: “If you’ll let me get in a word edgewise…”
And the reason that I had to go to a second fertility clinic in the first place…
“Once upon a time, there was a young lady with a big mouth named Lori and while she was on the examination table and her lower half was opened wide, her mouth was opened even wider…”
(which makes it appropriate to have a picture that looks like a dentist’s chair.)
As the doctor embarked on his usual scavenger hunt through my loins, I chatted freely about the high cost of fertility treatments. I started with the price of meds and graduated to the three page bill I had just received at the front desk, ending my monologue with…
“Quite a nice business you’ve got going here.”
Or maybe I didn’t say “business”. Maybe I said “enterprise”…………… or “scam”… or “racket”. Yeah, that last one sounds about right.
Well, that’s all she wrote, Sista. He stood up and flipped out on me for ten minutes. Poor little, infertile, impoverished, emotionally spent, naked-from-the-waist-down-with-my-legs-in-a-“V” big mouth me.
My husband Lloyd, in his most supportive mode just sat there. He wasn’t going to throw me under the bus, but he was more than happy to step out of its path as it dragged me into the next county.
Yes, you heard it right. Me, in my infinite wisdom had opened my big mouth and put four men in their places while one held a knife to my foot, one did CPR to my spine, and two fondled my ovaries. You’d think a comedy writer would have better timing.
Thanks a lot for stopping by! Hopefully you added a few laughs to your day. If you’d like more laughs at infertility’s expense, please sign on to my monthly newsletter / check out my little eBook: Laughing IS Conceivable: One Woman’s Extremely Funny Peek into the Extremely Unfunny World of Infertility
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