In the comments on my last post, HFF had a suggestion so very sensible I immediately yelped ‘why in buggeration didn’t I think of that?’
So I tackled H about it last night. I told him I was finding this all very hard indeed, and I asked him if he would take over at least some of the test-result-chasing and doctor-harrasslement for me.
Perhaps we had better not dwell at length on the subsequent screaming melt-down I had when he acted, shall we say, less than enthused? by the idea. In H’s defence, I must make it clear that he never at any point at all said he wouldn’t do it. All he did say was that he didn’t feel very confident about it and didn’t know where to start, and anyway, the clinics etc. might not release information to him as he was not me.
In my defence, seriously? And I am confident? I know where to start? I have had such amazing luck getting them to release my results to me and I am me? And then, naturally, there was a digression about who, exactly, was doing all the heavy lifting in terms of physical suffering and hormonal crash-and-burn, not to mention intense and instant emotional involvement because it’s my fucking insides our children are fucking refusing to live in.
When the green hue had faded from my skin, and I had brushed my teeth, I got my head around the idea that he wasn’t refusing, he was merely whining about it like a fourteen-year-old, and that this doesn’t actually mean no. And with any luck he got his head around the fact that it is very important to say ‘yes, of course I will!’ with puppyish enthusiasm before embarking on all the reasons why doing a grieving hormonal weeping anxst-ridden wife a favour is mildly inconvenient (and I may have mentioned (with ultra-sarcastic eye-rolls) the magic of Google for finding those tricky little things like contact details for World! Famous! Renowned! Clinics! I mean, the man is an internet professional. He gets paid for knowing about things like Google. Gah).
(H would no doubt like to counter here that I am an information professional, and get paid for knowing how to use things like Google).
It empurples me with rage to acknowledge it (what with me being one of they shouty feminist types) but, with the honourable exception of Doc Tashless, every clinic/doctor we’ve had dealings with has been noticeably more cooperative and forthcoming when H gets involved (I jest not. It’s 2010. This fucks me off but absolutely). It is, however, one good hard reason for wanting H to do the chasing despite the thick layer of tarnish now coating my ‘a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle’ sash brooch.
To recap: May has fertility issues and recurrent miscarriages and tries to get answers, and she can just damn’ well wait for referrals and results until the assorted clinics damn well please (or, the end of May, in this case. Well beyond the end of May’s patience). H’s wife has fertility issues and recurrent miscarriages and he tries to get answers, and suddenly they’ve found us an appointment with the Assisted Conception Unit next week.
ARRRRRRRGH. Also, thank fuck for that.
H is going to call Miss Consultant’s secretary tomorrow to make sure Miss Consultant has the blood test results with her when we see her, so we don’t waste everyone’s time.
Senior Doctor’s secretary has gone on holiday, so H couldn’t tackle her directly about the blood-test results which totally have not turned up in the post, appeared in my in-tray, been relayed to me by any method whatsoever, since I spoke to her last Monday (And so we have no idea if Senior Doctor is now aware I have now gained the requisite number of Frequent Flyer Miles for him to take me seriously. And no idea if he’s ever going to get back to me so I can slap him dramatically across the face with an inch-thick print-out of pub-med articles about thyroid antibodies and miscarriage (you can read about my visit to Senior Doctor at the Recurrent Miscarriage Clinic here. See?)).
H is also making plans to call Professor Regan’s clinic and enquire about referral times and fees for going privately and such.
I think I scared H just a little last night.