On April 5th, 1997, I was baptized into the Catholic faith. 22 years later, to the day, my husband and I were on our way to Newport Beach for the last test I would need before starting a fertility protocol: a sonohysterogram. For those of you lucky enough to have no idea what that is, it’s a yucky procedure where a woman’s uterus is filled with water like a balloon and then probed with an ultrasound wand to get a solid image of all the ins and outs of the womb. I thought it auspicious that this water-based test would occur on the anniversary of my baptism. Only God knows if it was.
The test itself, while uncomfortable, is nowhere near as awful as the cramps that come when the test is complete as the uterus expels the invasive water and throws a temper tantrum after its uninvited guest trashed the place. The cramps were no worse than period cramps, and they went away after a half hour, but I wasn’t prepared for them. That morning, I had imagined Steve and I, glowing and full of adventure, combing the beaches of Newport and familiarizing ourselves with the area and more of its cuisine. Instead, after my test, I waddled uncomfortably to the car, put the seat back, and told Steve to drive towards home as fast as possible. When we got back to our apartment, I grabbed a cozy blanket, curled up on the couch, and broke my Lenten abstinence by watching British TV until bed time. I believe chocolate was also involved, and in copious amounts. It wasn’t that bad. Really, it wasn’t, but I’m a wimp (I’ll be posting more about that later).
The test came back totally clear and I was approved to move forward with the transfer protocol. Up until the sonohysterogram, every step closer to our transfer was a hopeful and exciting event. Even having my blood drawn, and lots of it, wasn’t a big deal. I’ve had my blood drawn a number of times throughout my life and, while it isn’t status quo, it’s not a new experience. The sonohysterogram was. It was also the first wakeup call I’ve had that this process is not going to be easy. There is no such thing as walking into a doctor’s office and walking out with a baby, pain free. This is going to be a long, difficult road, and quite possibly a fruitless one. Still, at least I now know that there’s nothing wrong with my uterus, so we’re luckier than most in our situation.