Friday we went to see the doctor. As a first appointment it wasn’t too bad; we were lucky and managed to get an appointment with the doctor I prefer. She’s a slim and cute woman, who doesn’t make a point of being condescending or patronising.
As we left her office, Mr Goldfish’s first comment was that you shouldn’t give statistics to a mathematician. After 12 months 84% of couples will get pregnant. Of the remaining, half will get pregnant in the next year. So if you filled a room with one hundred couples a year ago, there would be 8 left still with a chance of getting pregnant and 8 who wouldn’t. Ignoring the fact that we have no idea what effect age would have on those statistics, we didn’t find them as optimistic as the doctor did.
As expected, for me I was given the useless advice to relax. At times I wish I could speak in bold or italics, so I could try and explain that I’m not just a bit anxious. I have diagnosed Anxiety with a capital ‘A’. We were also given a bit of contradictory advice, in that we should try and avoid scheduling so we can apparently relaxed and enjoy it. When I pointed out that between fatigue and low sex drive that would be difficult; she said I didn’t have to enjoy it, I just had to be there.
For Mr Goldfish we did discover something new. He thinks he had mumps as a child, which could be causing a problem now. So next week we’ll go in for tests. I need a blood test on the 19th and 2nd day of my cycle, while Mr. Goldfish needs to take in a sample. If the tests come back fine, then we might need to press for a more accurate understanding of my anxiety. Till then though this seems like a reasonable beginning.