So I go for my "trans-vaginal" ultrasound, always pleasant :sick: and then nervously sit in the waiting room with DH for the doctor to call us in to go over lab results and ultrasound.

I have never met the doctor; I usually go see the midwife for my yearly checkups (and she is wonderful.) The doctor, a middle aged male... was not so wonderful. On scale of 1-10 I would give his bedside manner a 3, and that is being nice.

He walked in, visibly rushed and said "so you trying to get pregnant?" I explained as quickly as possible that I wanted to know where I stand, I experience some pain, I do want kids eventually ...

He went on about how sometimes it is the man who has issues and it is easier to test the man. I cut in and asked about my results, seeing as though that is why I was sitting there?! He told me my prolactin level was slightly elevated, but he "isn't too worried about it" (never explained what that might mean) and that I have "a few" fibroids they will watch. Then he said it appears I have a heart shaped uterus (DH smiles and says AWW how cute... I wanted to knock him out).

So he grabs a pen and draws a "regular" uterus and 2 "heart shaped" ones. The first one, he says, is "severe" and these unlucky few generally cannot carry to term and experience miscarriages. The less severe "heart" can be fixed with surgery, or in some cases women do not get it corrected at all and still go on to have pregnancies - with a slightly higher incident of premature babies. But they cannot tell me much about my weird uterus because the ultrasound doesn't give a good enough picture. I would need "further testing."

Then he basically threw us out the door, with a cup for DH to ejaculate in for an analysis, and told me to buy ovulation kits and hope for the best when I am ready to try for a pregnancy.

I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or petrified? Very confusing. I went home and googled "high prolactin," "fibroids" and "heart shaped uterus."

The cherry on top: Moments after we get home SS calls and DH shouts "MY SWEET BOY IS CALLING; I LOVE MY BOY." I actually said to myself, and thank goodness he did not hear me, "I don't give a f@ck about your bobble head son." Resentment reared its ugly head... not nice.