Category Archives: gynecologist

back to Belgium

and so we start over. again.

for the past five nights, i’ve gotten the tools out:  pen full of expensive hormones, check; bottle of alcohol, check; cotton pads, check; sharp little needle tip, check.  i assemble the parts, dial the pen to the correct dosage and stab myself in the belly.  i repeat this ritual nightly for seven nights, my motions mechanical and sure. Continue reading

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coming into color

i don’t feel like i have much to say these days.  mostly i draw.  unlike a few weeks ago, i don’t feel angry or crushed, just resigned, and i find myself putting one foot in front of the other without thinking too much about where i’m going.

we spent the week following the sad ultrasound mostly glued to the couch, waiting for something scary and painful to happen, and when, after nine tense days, it didn’t, i warily started taking the miscarriage-inducing pills on the date the my doctor’s replacement told me to.   Continue reading

do you ever have that dream…

nearly four months ago, Froggy and i started our monthly drives to Belgium, that magic land to the northeast where we are allowed access to reproductive care.  as we’d done over a year before, we got up in the dark hours before dawn and drove the three hundred kilometers to our midday rendezvous with a syringe and some of little sun’s donor’s genetic material.  i’d already spent months trying to get my body and mind to a better, healthier place, and in the week leading up to the insemination, i would inject myself daily with a drug that stimulated my ovaries.  after a few days of that, i would begin the blood draws, usually every other day. finally, i would go to my gynecologist and have an ultrasound to see how many follicles i had and if they were ready to be ovulated.  if everything looked good, i would give myself another shot to trigger ovulation, and then 36-38 hours later, we’d be back in a hospital in Belgium, hoping that conception was about to take place. Continue reading

a thing with wings

before you start thinking that i’ve turned this into one of those strange affirmation-laden (marketing?) blogs, i want to mention the photo above was taken at Amsterdam’s Schiphol a little over three and a half years ago during a layover.  i took that just before catching a plane for Charles de Gaulle where my dear sweet Froggy was waiting for her American girl.  that was the day i started my life with Froggy in France. Continue reading

heartening

two days after we got back from England, i had my second visit to my new gynecologist.  our previous gyneco (as they call them here) was neither kind nor caring, and though she did quite possibly save my life and/or fertility several years ago, Froggy and did not like having to deal with her on our route to ttc.  i think she wasn’t going out of her way to help us for fear of being found out.  since it’s illegal to help lesbians conceive, many gynecologists won’t even take us on as patients, so after months and months of looking for one, we took what we could get.  once we became patients at the clinic in Belgium, she prescribed us the drugs and ultrasounds we needed, but there was always and undertone of “you should just be happy i’m helping you at all” in our exchanges.  she even made Froggy cry once on the phone.  Continue reading