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Right off the top... for the few readers of my blog who do not care to know about the workings of my plumbing (you know who you are), I encourage you to stop back in tomorrow, when I promise I will post the recipes I mentioned during ICLW last month.

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So today was the day. HSG. For the last week I have been experiencing some nervousness and mild anxiety about the test. It was even sneaking into my dreams. Very creepy!

On the advice of several com padres in the world of IF, I remembered to take a couple of extra strength ibu.profen before the test. (And boy am I glad I did) My beloved dropped me off at the hospital (I decided I was a big enough girl to go to this test on my own) on his way back to the office after lunch.

I came prepared with a book as I usually end up waiting quite a bit for appointments like this. It turns out I didn't need it. I only ended up sitting in the waiting room for 5 minutes. I was taken through the maze-like hallways of the diagnostic imaging department, given the requisite unflattering gown and a key to a locker in which to stow my belongings. The nurse brought me some paperwork and before I even had a chance to fill in the three check boxes and sign my name, she was back to take me into the room.

Get this, the one question on the form that was most important was the one question I couldn't remember the answer to... and for a woman who has been tracking her cycles for the last year it really is quite ridiculous... what was the first day of my last menstrual cycle? I wracked my brain. I tried counting backwards because I knew that today was CD 11, and that's when the dyslexia-monster kicked in and I couldn't figure it out come love nor money. I actually had to go back to the locker they assigned me, and somehow manage to dig my phone out of my purse to check the calendar, all the while attempting to hold the back of my wretched gown closed and not drop the questionaire OR my underwear OR the pad I had been told to bring with me.

The nurse led me across the hall into a room that was sporting a retro 1960's decor, complete with pistachio green paint, ugly florescent lighting, and an ancient looking x-ray machine. The nurse was getting the table prepped for me and soon after my OB came in. Climbing on to the table whilst holding things closed was challenging, especially for one of my hobbit-ish stature. A stool was required and I almost lost my balance when I sat down.

I laid back, did the required bending of the knees, and Dr U got to work. I can honestly say that I didn't expect it to hurt quite that much. I was fine with the initial cranking open of things, but the catheter was a not so pleasant experience. After the initial cramping subsided, I was ok though.

So, I'm laying there... my business all cranked open and there for the world to see. The nurse paged the radiologist, and Dr. U tried to make small talk. How can one make small talk when their internal bits are out there in front of God and everyone? I ask you! The radiologist arrived and things got underway... sort of.

The monitor by my head clicked on, and the table started to move into place under the x-ray machine. There was much clicking of buttons and turning off and turning on of the monitor. I'm trying to simply stare at the ceiling and think about anything other than what's going on. Finally I'm told that there is something wrong with the monitor, and it will be but a moment before things get underway.

No less than seven different nurses and technicians come in and out of the room to investigate what's going on with the monitor. Thankfully, after the first tech arrived, Dr. U was kind enough to drape my lower half with a sheet. Still, it was a very disconcerting experience.

After ten minutes, it was determined that the monitor was a goner. We would have to change rooms. Dr. U removed the catheter and cranked things closed again (am I the only one who feels like a car getting jacked up to have a tire changed?), all the while I am trying not to let on that it hurts like hell. Once I manage to get myself off the table I am taken, with all my sundry belongings, I am led out of the room and down another hall.

The new room is the polar opposite of the one I was just in. Modern looking equipment, monitors on this crazy arm thing that can swing around the table, and something resembling contemporary decor. The only thing out of place was the lunch on the counter belonging to the nurse who had just been shoo'd out of the room.

After getting on to the table, being sufficiently cranked and catheter-ed, they proceeded with the test. I could see on the monitor as the dye filled my uterus and was truly impressed. My doc was initially very happy with what he was seeing. No septum at all. Yay!

Then the radiologist called him into the little booth. They conferred for a moment, and then Dr. U came back out. He pointed out a little shadow on the right side of my uterus. Apparently, I have a small spot of scar tissue or a little polyp. Me being a worrier, I immediately start thinking the worst. Dr. U is convinced that if it is scar tissue it is likely from my D&C back in September, but that it is nothing to be concerned about. It's not holding the walls of the uterus together. The only problem it could pose would be if an eggie tried to implant right in that particular spot (statistically not impossible, but not very likely), in which case I would end up with either a chemical pregnancy or another blighted ovum.

Huh...

Basically, I don't feel any further along this road than I did when I woke up this morning. I mean, I'm thrilled that there is no septum. Only, now I need to ponder...

Am I ready to face the potential grief of another miscarraige? I think so.
Will I ever feel 100% ready to face another miscarraige? Probably not.
Will I feel guilty if we get pregnant and end up losing another baby? Most likely.
Will I ever be in a place where I won't feel guilty if it happens again? Not likely.

I think I know my answer, but I'm looking for input.