All the medical terms involved with IVF are rather long and arduous. It is easier to give them another name.
I was booked in for my lap dance with 2 surgeons. Dr Baby-Maker would be assisting Dr I’m-a-Man-But-My-Daughter-Is-An-IVF-Baby. I felt at ease. Dr Baby-Maker has a cool-ish bedside manner and doesn’t get any of our jokes. You can tell she was always head-down-bum-up at school and was probably dux. She’s thin and attractive and clip clops around the ward in heels, while everyone else shuffles along in sensible shoes covered with paper booties. I ask her if she has children. She has twin girls – natural. Karma.
The lap dance is straight forward as they are just going in for a little look-see to make sure the fibroid isn’t in the way of anything important. It’s fine, they assure me. Best to leave it where it is and not cause any unnecessary scar tissue. I’m sent home with a heat pack, panadol, and a terrible case of constipation. Must have been a bit nervous after all.
Next step is to enter IVF World – not necessarily the happiest place on earth, but the rollercoaster rides are most definitely the wildest.