I love, love, love my RE. He is so smart, so good at explaining what’s going on with me, he’s not too bad looking, and is just like ... a good dude. I hate that I have to go through all of this to get pregnant, but at least I’ve got a doctor who I absolutely trust because if he doesn’t actually care, he is so good at faking it that I can’t tell the difference. (He actually cares. I’m positive about that.)

But one of the other partners in the practice is the fucking worst. Last summer, I had a chemical pregnancy while my doctor was on vacation, so I saw this other guy instead. And, despite the fact that I hadn’t gotten my period yet, he wanted to put me on clomid and do another IUI asap. I asked if there was any reason think it would actually work, since my lining never shed, would my ovaries even respond? And he told me I would probably still be pregnant if I’d had a better attitude. That my negativity was the reason I wasn’t pregnant anymore. That is a shitty fucking thing to say to any patient, but especially a fucking infertile woman. Like. I wouldn’t fucking be there if I had a shitty attitude, because I’d be too pessimistic to even start to go through all of that.

He also instructed me to “make love” to my husband, which like. Duh. But just say have sex. That phrase is gross as shit, especially coming from a doctor.

I’d seen him a couple more times since then, but not really, so whatever. I had my egg retrieval this morning, and he was the doctor on duty this weekend.

My previous retrieval was also on a weekend, so the third doctor, who I’ve only met the once, did it, and she was great. She spoke to me beforehand, came in afterwards, when I was awake again, and went out to the waiting room to speak to my husband, and let him know everything went well.

Today, shitty doctor stood outside my little pre-op cubicle for 10 minutes, talking to the nurses or whoever about how he was up late last night watching the fight. He walks into my room and says, “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” and turns around and walks out without even letting me speak. He then stands outside the curtain, and continues discussing boxing. (OF COURSE he likes Mayweather. Of fucking course.)

Advertisement

In the operating room, they took off my glasses, and he made some weird comment about them that I don’t really remember because I was starting to fall asleep from the anesthesia. I remember being annoyed about it, though. (In his defense, whatever he said would probably have annoyed me, even if it was, “your glasses are awesome and they make you look so cool!” or something.)

Afterwards, he didn’t come in to talk to me. He also didn’t go speak to my husband. No one went to tell my husband it was done and I was fine, and how it worked out. Insult to injury (although it’s not actually a big deal), I’ve been lightly bleeding ever since. Not an uncommon side effect from this procedure, but THE OTHER DOCTOR DIDN’T MAKE ME BLEED. I am irrationally going to use this as proof that he is a worse doctor.

I swear to God, if we have to do this a third time, I’m going to refuse to start a cycle if he will be on duty the weekend of my potential retrieval. He’s too damn smug. He stays up late rooting for men who abuse women, and he literally doesn’t let patients speak without chastising them.