Update

This is an update to my last post.

I went to the gynecologist on Thursday.  I had low expectations.  I mean really low.  I took a page out of Sarah's book and wore a sexy bra and underwear set, wore full makeup and my favorite lipstick, and wore as cute of an outfit that I could get away with considering that I was headed to work afterwards (I can't find the exact post, but I'm 99% positive it was her).  I figured that if I was going to an appointment with the potential to be really shitty, that I may as well look good. 

When I walked into the office, my already low expectations were lowered.  I checked in with the receptionist who generally lacked in personality and got my new patient packet and made my way to the waiting room.  In the waiting room there was a rack full of Jesus books.  I fought the urge to leave.  I worked my way through the mountain of new patient paperwork and got to the last page, a consent to charge my credit card whenever I had a balance with the practice.  I obviously declined and added a statement to the effect that they do not have permission to charge my card in any circumstances.  I paid in cash for good measure.  Two strikes against them.

They called me back fairly quickly, which was good, because I was really teetering on the edge of walking out.

I got back to the exam room, where I did some more intake stuff with a nurse, who also lacked in general personality.  She asked how many pregnancies I'd had.  I told her zero.  She didn't win any points with me when she reminded me that "I'm young" and that "there's a lot of time left."  I started to shut down at this point.  I think that my demeanor encouraged her to make quick work of the remainder of her intake questions with minimal commentary.  Three strikes.

You're probably starting to feel sorry for me right about now.  Don't.  It got much better.

The doctor walked in.  There was something about her that started to put me at ease.  She asked about me.  Like she was interested in me as a person.  I started to feel comfortable.  She got more of my history and asked a bunch of questions.  Not the questions that made me feel like she was reading off of a list, but questions that actually followed up on the answers that I gave her.

We got to the part about infertility.  I told her everything, about all of the test results, about not pursuing treatment.  She reached over, touched my hand, and said "I'm really sorry that you had to go through that.  It must have been hard."  I was honestly taken aback.  I'm not used to this sort of empathy and compassion from normal people, let alone a medical professional.

She didn't discount any of the perimenopause symptoms and assured me that there are options for treatment.  She agreed that my symptoms were likely due to low estrogen.  She'll likely start me on a birth control with estrogen in it to see if that helps as opposed to jumping straight to HRT.  She did briefly mention taking a low dose of Prozac to help with the mood swings and, oddly enough, the hot flashes.  I absolutely hate the idea of taking an anti-depressant, but we'll see.

She ordered a bunch of blood tests (all hormone related) and a pelvic ultrasound to check things out.  I go back on September 20th.  On that day I think she'll do an endometrial biopsy and prescribe the birth control.  She's willing to do the laparoscopy to formally diagnose endometriosis and clean it up, so I'm sure we'll talk more about that at my next appointment too.

So long story short, I can deal with the Jesus books, the receptionist without personality,  and the nurse that was a jerk, because I really, really liked the doctor.  I still can't believe that I was so lucky to find her.  I was prepared to go in there and fight for myself, but I didn't need to at all.  I'm exhausted from it all, still.  But mainly I'm thankful that I was finally heard.