All if us know what the title means.
But would you be happy if that ‘old dog’ was the top dog at the Fertility Unit you had been referred to?
You’re probably thinking. That person must have experience- clinically and surgically and decades of successful baby making.
Yup, some of that is true. What this top dog wasn’t was progressive in his thinking and practice. What he told E was horrific and as such I feel ashamed we never put in a complaint against him.
Let me go back to the beginning.
After several botched referral attempts by our wholly incompetent GP practice, we finally got referred to take local fertility clinic. (In the UK, fertility treatment is funded through the NHS if certain strict criteria is met. Referrals are by your local GP. Funding is usually for 1-2 cycles).
At the fertility unit. We met pleasant but socially awkward Dr X. He knew I was shooting blanks and suggested a South American sperm donor for us. We were shocked… and amused. Dr X scanned her, found it difficult to see her ovaries and womb well and called in his boss, the top dog, Dr Y. He agreed it was difficult and requested a formal ultrasound scan.
E had been putting up with heavy and painful periods for many years. Her periods were completely unpredictable, varying from 3 weeks to 13 weeks.
The scan showed a fibroid- a LARGE fibroid.
The fertility treatment was put on the sideline so a gynae team could extract this fibroid.
But first the fibroid had to be looked at and evaluates close up. A laparoscopy was performed and the approximate size of the fibroid was elucidated.
Here’s the kicker.
Post op, Dr Y decides that a half asleep, morphine-sedated E (and I) are in the right frame of mind to hear his findings and decision making. In view of the large fibroid, he decided extraction surgery would be too dangerous and said we should go for adoption as hysterectomy was the only other option.
What the fuck!?!
She’s 34 yo. No previous kids and fertile and this is the only option.
Old dogs, eh!