Three Doctors; or, Health Turns Out to Be a Curse

Yesterday I had two conversations with doctors.

The first was my first session with the new therapist I was checking out. And it went great! I loved the energy in her office, I loved her approach, and I feel incredibly hopeful that this could develop into a wonderful therapeutic relationship. While I see the benefit in cognitive behavioral therapy and have been able to take away some positive strategies and lessons from my sessions with my other therapist, being prevented from "dwelling" on my feelings about this issue just makes me feel guilty for having those feelings in the first place. I've set up another appointment with New Therapist for next week. Now I just need to figure out how to cancel with Old Therapist, a prospect that leaves me rather anxious.

The second conversation was an e-mail exchange with my OB/GYN. She wrote that she'll do the blood work to test my thyroid levels at our appointment next week (yay!) but that she was sure my primary care physician had already tested them.

Um, yeah, so that brings me to my third doctor. Or rather, the gaping Derridean absence that marks the place of the third doctor. I don't have a primary care physician. I haven't had one since I was eighteen and left my pediatrician's office back at home.

Go ahead, yell at me. Everyone does. But I never (and I mean never) get sick, so I haven't had the need to acquire one. The last time I had a fever or the stomach flu (but it might have just been food poisoning) was 2001. I have never in my life gotten the seasonal flu, not even when my asthmatic, pneumatic husband is ill and I drink from his glass. I occasionally get one cold in a year, and that cold occasionally turns into a sinus infection, but whenever that happens I visit my allergist to get an antibiotic. And I haven't had any colds or infections in three years. My weight is very stable. My blood pressure is always perfect. I've never broken a bone and I haven't had a serious injury since I was a child. When I had my eye exam last year at Lawyer Guy's insistence, it was the first time in 20 years I'd had my vision checked. See? I'm really, really, really robustly healthy.

And I'm also extremely phobic of needles, primarily of blood draws and IVs. Until I had my d&c, I had not had blood drawn since 1999. Doctors had recommended blood work in the past (my old psychopharmacologist said I needed to have my saline levels checked to be on the anxiety medication she prescribed me), but I ignored them, so much did I fear getting blood drawn.

Which (as I'm sure you've figured by now) is all to say: No, my "primary care" physician has not tested my thyroid levels. If my thyroid levels have ever been tested, the last time was 11 years ago.

So I'm doing this. I'm going to get my blood drawn and maybe get some answers. I'm really scared, but I want to do the best I can for my babies (the m&m and any babies to come), so I need to be brave. I might ask my husband to come hold my hand, though.

Taking Care of Business; or the Head-Shrinker's Tale

I went back into therapy today. My new therapist seems lovely, even if we spent much of our first session chatting about my family history of anxiety disorders (it's quite extensive) and my own history of panic attacks, general anxiety disorder, and occasional bouts of depression. I feel good knowing that I'm doing something to get my mind back on track and my emotions under control. I also feel good that she's an LCSW rather than an MD-- I really don't want to go back on anti-anxiety meds when there's a chance I could become pregnant.

Things are also going well with my husband and me (I have now dubbed him Mr. Lawyer for the purposes of this blog). We've taken a step back from sex for the past week because he is spooked and worried ever since losing his erection last week. Mr. Lawyer and I have been having "fun" in non-baby-making ways to get back into enjoying sex rather than thinking of it as a chore.

Ultimately, I feel like we're taking care of necessary business right now. We can't make a baby the way that I thought we could. Meaning, we can't control this. I can't make it happen faster by reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility or obsessively analyzing my cervical fluid. Maybe there's a chance that I'd conceive marginally faster that way, but the toll it takes on my sanity, Mr. Lawyer's emotions, and the health of our marriage is not worth it.

My therapist told me I'm feeling the emotions and suffering the reactions common to couples going through infertility testing. And this is only after 4 months. I need to reset the clock, throw out the calendars, rethink this process. I need to relax.

Right now, I'm working on forgiving myself and my husband for not conceiving yet. A sex break isn't what I wanted, but maybe it's what we needed.

Let's see where we are six months from now.