On Wednesday the nurse said the gynecologist would call us the next morning, so at 10:30 I called her and said “he hasn’t called, you said he’d call, WHY HASN’T HE CALLED?” She assured me that DrBob’s number was on his to-do list, and DrBob headed off to work with his celephone. He called me a few hours later to say that I could go in on Monday and the doctor (the same gynecologist I’d already seen – that doesn’t happen often, I don’t think) would do an endoscopy (fancy talk for “a look around in there”), remove any polyps, and put in an IUD that should inhibit further polyp growth for at least a few weeks, and then we could schedule the ablation for next year. (Actually, while he was telling me this, the hospital called and told me the same thing. Good thing we have a lot of phones.)
So that’s set up, and I feel much better knowing that something will actually get done (and is my husband a hero or what for being reasonable and persistent and getting this done, because I – exhausted and hysterical – could not have). Quite miraculously better, so much so that I kind of forget that nothing has been done yet, and I’m not actually better. I went to my GP to fill out an insurance form and stopped at the pharmacy* on the way back this morning, and that turned out to be too much. I needed a nap afterward. Gah.
* Why did I go to the pharmacy? To pick up the IUD. That’s right, they don’t have them at the hospital, you have to bring your own.
Song du jour of the day: And Dream of Sheep, by Kate Bush