I had massively bigged this appointment up in my head as the really real official for sure its gunna happen fo reals start in our ttc journey. Ok, maybe not just in my head either, I pretty much told everyone! This was it!
We got to graduate you see, from gynae clinic to The Fertility Centre. It has its own reception and everything. It seemed a big deal! I even took the day off work. Slight regrets.
We arrived 20 or so minutes early and pretty much ran up the stairs to the clinic. Through the double doors to the reception and proudly announced we had an appointment. They had our notes ready, a set each, eek! And then through the other set of doors to the long awaited fertility clinic.
Ok so I expected something a little more geleemy. It was a bit of a hole, a corridor with no end point and rows of chairs. A depressing coffee machine and ‘lost families’ on repeat. Probs not the best choice (just sayin’)
we waited a good 40 minutes to be called but we didn’t mind (we took a couple of selfies and even spotted a couple of other lesbos!) and then it was our turn!
We followed the nice lady in eagerly. Into a hot tiny typically nhs non room, full of Windows and too low furniture and then she made some bad joke about why we were there. Mmmm. Ok now I was off my game. I can do jokey but this is not joke to me, this is my life lady. It just got worse, so some bad info about IVF, of which she clearly she has no idea. Worse info about how to tell your child they were conceived! Show them this book! That’ll do! (What about the love and blood and sweat and courage and and and!) and the really bad so terribly awful non info about our funding! I’m not even going to go there but she gave us her pointless opinion on possibly the most important financial status we wil ever go through with no knowledge no facts and without considering the impact her speculating may have.
I love the NHS. But jobs like hers would save us a shit load of money.