Anyway, broke my own record and got 13 little eggs. I’m pretty psyched about that, at least as psyched as I can be with an achy belly and anesthesia-fuzzy brain.
I also made a fuss about a not-so-nice receptionist at my RE’s office, and I’m patting myself on the back for that. Here’s the story:
One of the problems with being with the same RE for over a year and a half is that the people you love keep taking other jobs. First, my favorite nurse left me. Then the bestest and nicest insurance specialist. Then I lost my favorite blood-drawing nurse (who seriously was my ROCK through two miscarriages—the woman has had 4 miscarriages including one stillborn; she finally ended up with a daughter via IVF and has been a constant source of stability and comfort for me). So yesterday, my RE’s receptionist was replaced. I really liked the old one, at least after I’d broken her in. (We'd had a few spats early on, when I was losing it and irrational she was less than sensitive, but we both apologized and it ended up making us get along much better.) She knew me, knew my history, and was very helpful and sweet to me.
So after my retrieval my RE tells me to go home and go to bed, but first call my nurse to talk about drugs tonight. I first call my nurse from the car, at about 8:30 a.m. The new receptionist answers. I give her my name and ask if I can please talk to my nurse. She says coldly, “You’re going to have to call back after 9:30, when we’re done doing our morning monitoring.”
Okay, not the end of the world, as I still have to get home and eat before I go to bed. And they are really busy in the mornings. Of course, she could have asked my situation, found out if it was urgent, etc, but I’m not letting it bother me.
By the time 9:30 rolls around I’ve finished eating, am in my pajamas, and my bed is calling me--urgently. I call my RE's office again at 9:37. Again, I say who I am and who I need to talk to. Same clipped tone, “I’m sorry, but you really need to call after 9:30––” she says.
I cut her off. “First of all,” I pointed out, “it is after 9:30.”
“It is?,” she sounds surprised.
I go on. “Second, I just had my retrieval this morning, I’m dizzy from the anesthesia, I need to go to bed, and I have to talk to my nurse first.”
I sat on hold while my nurse finished a sono, rather than leave a message. My nurse is a total doll. Once we had finished talking about my drugs, I told her, “just one more thing. I don’t want this new receptionist to know it came from me, but you should know that she was not so nice to me this morning.” I relayed the entire story above (leaving out the part where I wasn’t really ready to go to bed at 8:30 when I called the first time, because why should that tiny fact benefit the bitchy receptionist?).
My nurse was pissed. She told me that this wasn’t going to be our permanent receptionist, to which I said, “oh, then it doesn’t matter that much to me.”
“It matters to me,” my nurse replied.
Hee hee hee. Had this receptionist been willing to listen, I could have warned her: don’t fuck with a woman who just had a giant needle stuck up the wazoo.
**************Okay, okay, one more McNulty pic. When I showed J this pic last night, he said, "Yup, that's a Devil Kitty."
(Hey, am I going to lose my readers if I ever stop posting his photos? What am I going to do when he gets old an boring?)