The doctor talks us through the IVF procedure. Despite our research, it takes us by surprise. Its way more complicated and hardcore than we thought.
He lists what seem like endless blood tests and injections and scans. All the talk of injections makes my head spin. My needle phobia takes hold. I start sweating. He continues talking of injections in arms, in thighs in bottoms. The injections aren’t even for me, they are for Iza. Nonetheless I can feel myself passing out. To avoid pulling a whitey and crashing out on the floor I mutter “I must guest out. Sorry. Needles.” and stagger out the room. Leaving a bemused doctor to carry on the consultation with Iza without me.
I go out for fresh air and calm myself down. I feel ashamed. I feel pathetic.
I pull myself together. And go back to the consultation room. I apologise. The doctor is understanding. But he should be, we are paying him. Iza, who is about to embark on a huge journey of prodding, injecting and personal intrusion, is also understanding. I should be me comforting her not the other way round. Thankfully she finds the whole scene amusing. God, how I love her.
0 Comments.