Late. Late as always. My GPS said I was arriving at the fertility clinic at 10:04. Is the receptionist going to judge me when I show up 4 minutes late and determine that I’m unfit to have a baby on my own? As I plowed my way into the clinic in typical Melissa fashion, barely putting my Bronco in park, I managed to make it to the front desk out of breath. Great, now they are going to mark up my chart so that my overweight status can slide in right next to the advanced maternal age status and before I know it they will be offering me a wheelchair to make it safely to the examination room. I gave the receptionist my insurance card and was met back with, “Ma’am, we don’t take your insurance.” I had waited 2 months for this appointment and had verified before I came that they did in fact take my insurance so I was left confused. In a fury of rage, I told the lady I was willing to pay the $418 dollars out of pocket because I needed this appointment now. As I sat waiting to be called back, the floodgates opened and there was no stopping them. Should I be doing this in NY? Wait, I have bad insurance as a state employee? I’m exhausted by life, and I’m going to possibly be adding a baby into the mix? 

They took my weight first, asked a bunch of weird questions ranging from do I wear my seatbelt to when was the last time I was sexually active. Did I mention I was still crying? No clue why , but once I start I can never seem to stop. Thankfully, the lady just rolled with my hot mess self and took me away to a room in the back where the “fertility consultation” would take place. The doctor and I talked about IUI, IVF, sperm banks and the whole range of options I’d be facing in the near future. After my normal examination, they sent me back to the lab to have 6 different blood tests done to determine my overall health and also my AMH level. The level of AMH in the blood can help doctors estimate the number of follicles inside the ovaries, and therefore, my egg count. In order to be considered fertile you want this number to be between 1.0-4.0 ng/ml.  An AMH level under 1.0 ng/ml is considered low and indicative of a diminished ovarian reserve. 

I was still in tears when I made it down to the lab. The lab employee, Donna, took on a motherly role and made some phone calls to find out the price of the labs for me to calm my overstimulated state of mind. I decided that I was independently wealthy at the moment and regardless of the insurance issue, I had her draw my blood. After being pricked 4 times with zero luck of a vein in sight the last thing I remember saying was, “I don’t feel so well.” 

When I woke up I was slumped over another lab worker who was holding an ice pack on my forehead saying, “Breathe, please, breathe.” I was a bit confused by where I was and as they attempted to walk me to a chair where I could lay back I noticed that I was covered in sweat. My hair was stuck across my face from crying for a good portion of the day. Apparently I had passed out for a good amount of time. I just wanted to be home at this point and pretend that this day had never happened. 

As I laid on a reclining chair, with one of the lab techs fanning me and another holding an apple juice box up for me to drink, I strangely felt calm for the first time all day. I couldn’t help but to think that it was nice to be taken care of by two other human-beings. I didn’t feel as alone as I talked to the two women about why I was there and the journey I was beginning. I wasn’t surprised to find out that the one tech who had comforted me was a mom of 6 herself. I had been at the clinic for 4 hours at this point and made the executive decision to order a pizza on my way home  in hopes that the dizziness would subside when I ate something.

The next day I woke up, feeling like the rush of angst and despair I had felt the day before was gone. It was a new day.  After talking to a co-worker, I also realized that I had given the front desk an old insurance card. I was not crazy and the clinic did in fact take my insurance. It was a new day.