Wimpy Wimpy Wimpy
I am one of those people who spends time thinking up scenarios of ways to tell those who did me wrong exactly what is wrong with them. I dream up ways to put these people in their place. Last week I was given such an opportunity, and I said nothing.
Most of you know I have been on quite the infertility journey. It started with the catholic gyn who told us if we tried infertility treatments "you may get pregnant, but it will not be the child you were meant to have." Nice. Before we started my year of hellish treatments my husband consulted with a urologist, who told us everything was fine and his results were "near normal." After 5 tortuous rounds of clomid, I sought a second opinion. My fertility doc looked at those same test results and said my only option was in vitro. When I told him we were told those results were "near normal" his response was "for what?"
Three months later, said urologist was picking up glasses, let himself into the back room when no one was there, and was found going through my appointment book. When told to get out, his response was "It's ok, I'm a doctor." Last Wednesday when I came back from lunch, I saw that he was my three o'clock. He is one of the two people I hold personally responsible for my year of torture and wasted time. What did I say to him? Nothing. I just gave him the best damn eye exam he ever had. Oh well, at least I'm professional.
Most of you know I have been on quite the infertility journey. It started with the catholic gyn who told us if we tried infertility treatments "you may get pregnant, but it will not be the child you were meant to have." Nice. Before we started my year of hellish treatments my husband consulted with a urologist, who told us everything was fine and his results were "near normal." After 5 tortuous rounds of clomid, I sought a second opinion. My fertility doc looked at those same test results and said my only option was in vitro. When I told him we were told those results were "near normal" his response was "for what?"
Three months later, said urologist was picking up glasses, let himself into the back room when no one was there, and was found going through my appointment book. When told to get out, his response was "It's ok, I'm a doctor." Last Wednesday when I came back from lunch, I saw that he was my three o'clock. He is one of the two people I hold personally responsible for my year of torture and wasted time. What did I say to him? Nothing. I just gave him the best damn eye exam he ever had. Oh well, at least I'm professional.