The diagnosis

“Well, it’s not what we were expecting.  It appears from the HSG that you have what is called a unicornuate uterus.  You see, when we are born all of our organs have already formed and sometimes, very rarely, they don’t form completely.  It’s called a Mullerian anomaly, and it’s a congenital defect, meaning you’re born with it.  The uterus is formed by two cells fusing together to make one large uterine cavity and two fallopian tubes, and two ovaries.  In those people who have a unicornuate uterus, for whatever reason one side isn’t there.  This will make getting pregnant very difficult.  And this is also important for your overall health because sometimes people with Mullerian anomalies are found to only have one kidney.  The kidneys form at the same time as the uterus, we think, so somehow they are connected.  So we need to know a little more information.  We could do an ultrasound, we could do an MRI.  But you should know that getting pregnant, while it’s happened, is not going to be easy for you.”

Thank God I was sitting down.  “Should I keep taking clomid?  I just started my first round two days ago.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

“Yes, for now, let’s proceed as usual until we know more.  There could just be a blockage, but we won’t know until we do more tests.  My office will be in touch with you to schedule those tests.”  With that, she gave a little smile, stood up and exited stage left.

The nurse and the nursing student peeked in at me.  “Are you here with someone?” the nurse asked as they walked me down the hallway.  I shook my head and started to tear up.  “Are you okay?” She was holding my arm and the concern in her voice made me turn and hug her.  I hugged the nursing student, too, and tried to sound coherent through tears.  “Thank you both so much.  You were both so kind and warm.  Thank you.”  I squeezed their hands, then turned and walked away.  I couldn’t say any more.  I didn’t want to ruin their day with my emotions, which had already been wreaking havoc with me thanks to the clomid factor.  But I wanted them to know that it meant the world to me to have their support during this first glimpse of infertility.

I swiftly left the hospital in my sunglasses and my head down, made a bee-line to my car, threw myself into the driver’s seat, and cried.

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One thought on “The diagnosis

  1. Pingback: “Everything feels normal” and other lies | Expectant Hope

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