I was going to write a slightly tedious post all about metformin, and how I’m not sure I care for the stupid drug but will stay on it like a good little (gassy) ox for the duration because Dr George said so, with Reasons and everything.
Meanwhile, we emailed Dr George to confirm the exact date I am to start squirting nun’s urine up my nose (see previous post) (actually, FSH used to be extracted from nun’s urine (nice clean menopausal ladies with nice clean wee, see? (Buserelin is snow-leopard kitten tears, remember?)).
And Dr George dropped a jolly old bomb-by-email back on us this afternoon. To say, actually, ‘we’re’ not going to use Buserelin as on reviewing the notes of our discussion, ‘we’ decided on an antagonist cycle.
Wait now what now what the fuck?
Because, both H and I clearly remember him telling us the advantages of using an agonist to suppress the endometriosis/adenomyosis, and that therefore I might be starting the ‘nasal spray’ a week earlier than usual, and that it might make my period less horrible if I did (hence confusion-that-needed-clearing-up about the meaning of ‘day 21’).
And, also, Dr George himself wrote the fucking prescription for Buserelin with my name on. And we double checked it, remember, because when H went in for his HIV/hepatitis test, it wasn’t ready, and he had to get the nurses to go ask about it and get back to us. And then I picked it up the next day and paid Money In Excess of Lots for it.
So, as I was saying, WAIT NOW WHAT NOW WHAT THE FUCK?
You know triggers? Events that are seemingly no big deal, but because of one’s Precious Snowflake Issues, bring on a Hate Spiral of Raging Anxious Doom? Yeah, I have one regarding Doctors That Do Not Listen (you know my mono-ovaried state? It would never have come to that if doctors had listened to me whining on about my terrible random tummy pains and weird swelling in the lower left quadrant of the abdomen, rather than going ‘oh, teenagers and their silly period problems! Have a paracetamol LOLOLOLOLOL’ for years). BUT I’M NOT BITTER. And the miscarriage thing. Yeah, no, let’s not go there)). ANYWAY. I am wondering whether or not to have a migraine. I mean, why the hell not? Bring on ALL the suck!
Rationally, I know this is not necessarily any kind of deal-breakerage. We will email Dr George asking for clarification – oh, hey, he may have my AMH result infront of him and have had an ‘oh!’ moment and therefore it is the correct decision (I do not know what my AMH result is. We will ask that too) – and if he really does mean doing this the Antagonist way, we will ask for a refund on the kitten-tears. No, wait, we won’t ask for a refund. We will get a fucking refund. And an apology. We have a week or two to clarify. And I can always explain, carefully, just how very, very little I appreciate doctors screwing me about, with hand-gestures, if the apology is not forthcoming.
ARGH, though. Just, ARGH.