"He's Old."

I wasn't nervous.

That is, I wasn't nervous until I was sitting on a patient table, draped in a hospital gown, my backside exposed, crinkling on the sanitary paper, my cold feet dangling. And waiting. Waiting for eternity. Each minute that ticked by was accompanied with mixed feelings. Why couldn't they just hurry up?! I'd been sitting there feeling cold and vulnerable for 40 minutes. Let's just get this done and over with! At the same time, the longer he took, the longer I had before he brought with him the judgement I was freaking out about. Once that door opens, I'm going to shrivel up and die. I just know it. So I'm cool with waiting for the next couple of days. My husband shot me a smile. "You're nervous aren't you?" he said, amused. Nothing gets past that guy I tell ya. "There's nothing to be nervous about you know? It's no big deal." Yeah, easy-peasy for you to say. You're not the one sitting here naked waiting for some guy to come and STICK HIS HAND UP YOUR VAGINA! Instead, "I know, I know. Logically there's nothing to be scared of." But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

When the door opened, the doctor I'd never met before walked in with a newbie medical student on his heels. I had a small heart attack. For the past hour I'd been preparing myself to meet this ONE doctor. I'd thought about the questions to ask. I'd rehearsed my medical history. And now, without warning, there was a second person who I would be exposing myself to. The thing that kept me from locking my legs together is that the eager learner was a woman. I could deal.

The doctor proceeded to ask questions about my cycle, birth control, and our family timetable. My cycle's regular & fairly normal. There's hiccups every now and again. I was on birth control for 6 months, been off for two years. We didn't prevent pregnancy for 6 months, we've been actively trying for the past year. Etc. Now came the part that I was most fearful of. The emotional beat-down. You're asked exactly what you've been doing to get that egg and sperm hitched, you fill them in, and then, "Did you try x+y=z?" You stare at your feet and mumble a no. "Well it's no wonder you're not pregnant!" I experience this quite often. Mostly from well-intentioned friends. They're just trying to help, but my feelings always take a hit. Even more so when x+y=z is tried and fails. At times I feel that I've worked every equation possible, then another is slapped up on the whiteboard. So I put on my thicker skin and tried my best to mask my face for the list of Well it's no wonder!s from my doctor.

"When dealing with this there are four areas we cover," he explained. "We'll start with the first, which is making sure you're ovulating and I suspect you are based on what you've told me. The second is anatomy. Some exams and procedures will be done that will tell us if everything is where and how it should be. We'll deal with the third and fourth areas if the first two check out." He then told us to get busy on such & such dates. He also wanted to see me again the first of the month and do a small test. And then . . . . . he moved on. What? THAT'S IT? What happened to all the questions about the inner workings of our sex life? Whether or not I've been overdosing on prenatal vitamins? Do I stand on my head afterwards? Really? NOTHING ELSE?

The remainder of the appointment was relaxed and informative. He examined me and took a little bit longer doing so because he was too busy pointing and discussing things with the med student. This here is the vagina. That's the hole the baby comes out of in case you missed that nugget in class. I didn't care. They could have invited the rest of the clinic in for a seminar on a woman's downstairs. What mattered to me is that the doctor didn't automatically assume I was doing something wrong. He didn't poke fun or make me feel incompetent. I didn't walk out of there with a bunch of lotions and potions and a list of old wives techniques and remedies. It was . . . . . relieving. Liberating. Simply put, my doctor was the first person who made me feel that it wasn't my fault we hadn't achieved pregnancy. Logically I know it couldn't possibly be my fault. But we all know that emotions are rarely logical.

"So how do you feel about this new doctor Gary?"

"He's old."