Northwest Health Coaching, LLC

Heart bursting

I wouldn’t have made it through what I’ve made it through without the help of a number of women owned/led businesses.
Without the women in the health + wellness space that have paved the way and led me to heal.
Without the women that have stood by my side, being a shoulder to cry on, and then then pushing me to keep going.

I’ve been sharing about my fertility journey and my health struggles and have now started to share practices I’ve focused on to help me heal.

I figured International Women’s Day is the perfect day to share with you the women behind my healing.

Here are some incredible women that I truly don’t know where I’d be had they not supported me.

✨They are miracle workers.✨

- The dietitian that helped me discover sooo much through testing and looking at my food intake, and then supported me with making changes.minipom - My acupuncturist that has helped me through it all and given me so many ideas to try.
- Vickie has been doing abdominal massages with me for a while, giving me relief but also helping me connect with the part of my body that has experienced a lot of trauma.
- My therapist that has kept me grounded and guided me through the hardest time of my life.
- Dr. Torvie and Dr. Melville have been working with me for seven years, and I’ve felt so confident in their hands.
- Dr. Ashley has helped not only with my alignment, but also getting my body into parasympathetic response when all other methods have failed.
- Her podcast and herbs are just life changing.
- The best way to chill out and reduce inflammation.
- Speaking of inflammation, my Higher Dose blanket has been one of my favorite tools to minimize it, and helps me chill out at the end of the day. It’s a company founded by two women and has made a difference in my body and health.
Happy International Women’s Day to each and every one of you. Love you all! 💗

🩵Second Focus of My Healing Process- Healing Adrenal Fatigue🩵

I’ve had signs of high cortisol and chronic stress for a while- ✔️hair loss
✔️daily exhaustion even when I let myself rest
✔️sadness
✔️brain fog
✔️cravings, etc.
And I have given myself every excuse in the book for why it was ok (I mean, read my story…😝).

I did things here and there to help manage it, but it didn’t really set in how much it was impacting me until I did a DUTCH test.
My test showed that my body wasn’t metabolizing cortisol well, an indicator that I’ve been too stressed for too long and my body is spent.

Being in the health and wellness field, I know how detrimental this can be on longer term health. I also know that this will only continue to impact my hormones, estrogen, and inflammation, so seriously working on it has been one of my biggest focuses.

Here are a handful of changes I’ve made to really help my body manage stress and improve my cortisol situation:

➕Changed from HIIT to yoga, walks, and weight training➕ .

This was tough to change, but I know it was right. I was exerting a lot of energy each day in my exercises, (my heart rate often between 180-200 bpms for 10-20 minutes of my exercise) spiking my cortisol unnecessarily.
I’m already doing that too much, so switching up my movement was important. I focus on keeping my heart rate between 100-150 max and focus on long, low impact movement that helps with my blood sugar.
➕Stopped daily cold showers➕
I had started implementing cold showers to support healthy mitochondria function. They are so popular right now, but what I learned not long ago is that all of the research done on them has been on men.
As a woman that has not been through menopause, my body needs different things then a man, and having this daily cortisol spike was having more of a negative impact on my body than the uptick on mitochondria function. Those were easy to move on from.
*Changes cont. in comments…

🩵First Focus of My Healing Process- Blood Sugar Balance🩵

*Over the next week, I’m sharing a handful of processes I’ve used to help me heal from fibroids, infertility, hormone issues, grief, and other tough sh!%. This is not an exhaustive list and I’m not suggesting it’s exactly what you need, but these tools have been helpful for me. Though some of these issues haven’t been “solved” these tools have helped…*

When I started my first rounds of IVF, I was doing all that I thought was best for my body-
~Vegetarian (ish)
~HIIT exercises
~Fasting
~Cold showers daily

I would skip breakfast, do a HIIT workout on an empty stomach in the morning, and eventually start my eating around 11:00 am with a big bowl of rolled oats, berries, and nut butter.

I truly was doing what I thought and was told was best for a healthy person in their early 30’s.

Over the years, as I’ve worked with a variety of health professionals, I can see why my blood sugar eventually struggled, landing me on the cusp of prediabetes, even when I looked like a healthy person.

What I didn’t realize then was that if your blood sugar levels are off, and you become insulin resistant/prediabetic, your hormones and fertility can be deeply impacted.

Fortunately, it’s something many of us can reverse.

One of the first things we focused on when I started working with a dietitian to support healthy hormones (well after my IVF rounds, unfortunately) was to make sure my blood sugar was healthy.

A few things I’ve incorporated to support my blood sugar:
*Continued in comments 👇🏻

Now that I’m almost 6 months past our failed placement, and it’s been 6 years since my first miscarriage, I’m finally starting to catch my breath.
*Read previous posts for full story
I so wish I had some really exciting news that can wrap my story up in a beautifully packaged box with an exaggeratedly large bow. 🎀
But that’s not real life. Not yet.

We are still working on becoming parents. We are hopeful that the right child will find us in the way it’s supposed to. And we are still learning how to be the best parents to whatever child ends up filling our arms and our lives.

But we are still waiting.

In the meantime, my health is my top priority.

After all that has happened, after years of trying to force my body to do what I desperately wanted it to do, I’m now focused on listening to it.

Each day I’m checking in with my physical body and my mental space to see what it needs. And after working with many professionals (acupuncturist, dietitian, herbalist, naturopaths, massage therapist, IVF doctors, and therapist) I’ve got an incredible arsenal of tools and routines I’m implementing to help myself heal from all angles.

So, though I’m caught up to present day, and sadly I’m not ending my story with a big, Oscar worthy happy ending, I have learned a lot and am in a better headspace.

I know our journey isn’t over and I could once again have my heart crushed, but I’ve made it through dark times I wasn’t sure I would make it through, and am doing my best to learn from them.

And while we wait for our little one, and focus on healing, there are five routines that have made the biggest impact on my mental and physical health.

Five things that I think anyone could benefit from, but especially someone that has struggled with hormonal issues, infertility, and/or trauma.

This week I’ll be sharing one of those focuses each day (ish), diving a little deeper into why they are important and how they’ve helped.

Stay tuned 🩵

After five days of having a portable catheter, I was back in the doctor’s office having it removed. I was instructed to take a little pail to the bathroom and try to p*e on my own.

*Read previous posts first

If I wasn’t able to fill the pail with my urine to a certain line sans catheter, they would put it in again and schedule me for a hysterectomy.

I understood the assignment…

I HAD to fill the pail. I wasn’t ready for my uterus to go.

It’s caused a lot of pain and frustration over the years. Many tears have been shed because of this disruptive, moody, and stubborn organ.

But even with all of the odds against us to ever carry a baby, I just wasn’t ready to actually completely, once and for all, nail that door closed.

I still wanted to hold onto a little hope.

The pressure I felt to fill this little plastic pail must have been getting to me. I was suddenly “stage fright”, and my first time in the last five days trying to p*e on my own left me with just a few drops.

🤬!!!

Come on…

After a few minutes with no luck, I sullenly walked out of the bathroom, letting the nurse see what I had produced.

She met me in the exam room and, noticing my eyes were rapidly filling with tears, she tapped my knee and said, “We’ll just give you a few more minutes. Chug this.“ She handed me a bottle of water and left the room.

Chugged it I did, and 10 minutes later I marched into the bathroom, bladder full and determination high, and filled the damn little pail.

The doctor cautiously sent me home with my uterus intact, advising that I should have it removed within 6 months and instructing me to schedule an appointment with him then.

I nearly skipped to my car, free of my catheter and full with my uterus, vowing to myself to do all I could to minimize my inflammation (and hopefully my fibroids) so that never happened again.
Plus, in just a couple of weeks (or any day!), we would be bringing home our adoptive son. I didn’t have time for the recovery of a hysterectomy! I had to finish prepping our home for our little guy….👩‍🍼

Story cont. soon-ish🩵

On Nov. 14th, 2022, my family’s world stopped. My 5 yo niece had an irrevocable accident.

As Brian and I were in what felt like the biggest “battle” of our lives- becoming parents- my niece was in the real battle.
*Read prev posts 1st
We traveled to Colombia to help our family and be with her during what would end up being her last few days.

I got to hold her one last time before she left us, her head, adorned with braided pigtails, nestled under my chin (as it had been 100x’s before) one final time.

We will never be over losing Maggie. My brother and SIL, of course, but any of our family.

My heart changed that November. A piece broke off that will never fully recover. My view of life darkened a shade and will never go back to its original brightness.

I lived the first 30 years of my life relatively unscathed. Having the last 8 years filled with life altering events that have shaken me to my core has changed my makeup.

No matter how many manifestation books I read, I now live constantly waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, jumping at every random phone call or unexpected knock at the door.

And while this moment was soul crushing, it taught me a myriad of things, one of the biggest being gratitude.

The previous 6 years I had felt sorry for myself. For having to go through so many rounds of IVF, for being left with a body that was tattered from the procedures, for seeing others build their families while we were still “just” us.

But this. This was guttural, earth shattering grief. This was the actual worst thing.

As dark as it is, the lesson I’ve tried to glean is that things can always be worse. And right now, at this very second, you have a million things to be grateful for.

Don’t let them go unappreciated.

Say I love you. And every day, bask in all that you have to be grateful for. Because even in the very darkest moments, there are still glitters of joy.

After Maggie passed away, I felt like I needed to appreciate what I had. If we were meant to be parents, we would be. Forcing it wasn’t working.

So again, I focused on healing.

And then in February of 2023, I got a call that didn’t leave me in tears. Well, not sad tears anyway…

I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders the minute our adoption profile became public in June of 2022.

*Read previous stories before cont.

For five years I’d been doing everything I could to become a mom.

I’d been forcing my body to do wild things in an attempt to make our chances of conception higher-
-amping it up for cold showers to improve mitochondria function
-filling my schedule with acupuncture appointments (up to 3x a week at one point) for healthy blood circulation
-turning down work opportunities that might be too stressful
-downing herbs according to my cycle
-halting my exercise because the quick bursts of cortisol was too much…

Even seeing a psychic and astrologer to get insight as to what might be ahead. (The psychic told me I wasn’t supposed to be a mom in this lifetime…. 🥺💔)

And the medicine that was…. a lot.

The moment we hit that LIVE button for our adoption profile, I felt the white knuckle grip I had on forcing my body into creating a baby loosen, and then float away.

It was out of my control. It felt freeing.

I’ve heard from many that the connection adoptive parents have with their adopted child feels spiritual. Like it was meant to be from the beginning. Like their child’s soul found them and it was exactly as the universe or god or whomever had planned it.

That all the ups, downs, heartbreak, turmoil, and pain were meant to bring them to that child.

That. I was ready for that. And ready to stop forcing something to happen that just wasn’t. meant. to. happen. Not in that way, at that time.

So Brian and I kicked back, relaxed, prayed, and waited.

We traveled, I ate things and drank things I hadn’t in years, I stopped forcing daily practices on myself, and we just lived.

And dreamed of the little baby that would find us.

In Sept of 2022, while I was working at my family’s booth at our local fair, I got a phone call from our adoption agency.

Less than 3 months after our profile was “live”.

Woah! Wasn’t this supposed to take 2 years?!?

We were ecstatic. We chatted w/ the birth mom a few times. The situation and connection felt natural.

We told our agency we were a go- let’s adopt this baby!
*Story cont soonish*

Adoption is deeply personal. The first agency we applied to in an attempt to become adoptive parents denied us.

*Read previous posts first*

In short, it seemed as though we weren’t religious enough for them. But to be denied the opportunity to adopt right off the bat was a gut punch.

We naively figured adoption would be the solution we had been overlooking for so long, and now that we had seen the light, it would be a piece of cake. We’d be holding our baby in no time.

Apparently not.

Fortunately, this was a small setback.

We applied to an agency we were considering along with the one that denied us and immediately upon their reply we knew it was where we belonged. They approved us, or rather welcomed us with open arms.

Now came the hard part… having honest, difficult conversations with each other about how we envision ourselves as parents and what situations we were open to.

I didn’t think it would be hard.

Theoretically, I know we could love any child. I like to think I would welcome and love any child, no matter their situation… -substance exposure- of course
-older child- yep
-different ethnicity than us- obviously
And I know we WOULD love any of them no matter their situation.

But while we were researching adoption, we realized that in some situations, we probably wouldn’t be able to support the child in the way THEY needed.

We didn’t have the experience to support them in the way they need most. And there are people out there, waiting to be parents through adoption, that could support them better.

It was humbling.

We took our time, had long, pragmatic, heart wrenching discussions, and in June of 2022, on the day Roe v. Wade was overturned (a strange coincidence), our adoption profile became public.

Now all we had to do was kick back, relax, and have a birth mom reach out, choosing us to be her child’s parents.

We had been told it took an average of 2 years to be matched, but we were optimistic it would be faster.

Why wouldn’t it be? We were ready to be parents (uhhh, dying to be parents). They would see that immediately and choose us!

It would be a piece of cake…
*Continued tomorrow(ish) 🩵

I wasn’t prepared for someone I love to be our surrogate.
Beyond grateful- yes. In awe- of course. Forever indebted- obvi.
But prepared… not so much.
*Read previous posts before continuing*

We accepted my sister in law’s incredible offer to be our surrogate.
I was still in shock. I didn’t even consider it as an option because she already had her hands very full as a SAHM with a 6 yo and twin 3 yos. It didn’t cross my mind.

But when she offered, I realized there was no one in the world I would rather have carry our child.
Suddenly, some of my pain of not being able to be pregnant was sliding off of me, like I was shedding a layer of anger and resentment and trading it with hope and deep connection.
She is one of the best people I know, not to mention she oozes maternal mom vibes, and I knew she would love our baby with all of her heart.

It felt perfect.

We still went through the legalities of surrogacy. It’s wild the situations you have to consider when someone else is carrying your baby, and the fact that you all need to agree.
👉🏻 “If X happens in utero, how would you all want to proceed?” F$ #!, I don’t know…

👉🏻 “Is her family fully prepared and on board for another pregnancy?” They were.

👉🏻 “Is she open to the type of birthing plan you guys want?” Birthing plan is all her call, obviously.

So many things to consider in prep for surrogacy.

And even more so, the sacrifice she had to make to actually have the transfer, not to mention the pregnancy.

Multiple doctor appointments each week, some of which weren’t planned until the day before. Add onto that that these appointments were 45+ miles from her home and she had to navigate her own kid’s schedules while prioritizing this.

It really took a village. Not only her and her lids and husband, but also our extended family.

Grateful feels too trivial. I was forever changed by her desire to carry our child and all the people that helped.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the heartache that would come and how it not only shatter Brian and me, it now would impact the people I love…
*Story cont. tomorrow (or soon-ish)

➡️If you are still trying to conceive a child, adoption is not for you. ⬅️

*Read previous posts 1st

As we started looking into adoption agencies, this was at the beginning of every pamphlet and pdf, seemingly as a neon sign that was blinking at me.

It makes sense. Adoption deserves to be a first choice, or at least one you are all in for. Just as parenthood in general, I suppose, but because of the complexities of raising a child that isn’t biologically yours and the trauma every adopted child has, it is something you want to be fully committed to and excited about. Not a backup.

We weren’t there.

I was gearing up for my 5th round of IVF, still clenching onto the idea of having a baby that was half me, half Brian.
That would maybe have his skin that bronzes easily and his brows that furrow when he’s concentrating, combined with my dark blue eyes and dimples that poke out when I’m not smiling.

These seem like they would be insignificant. We aren’t genetically special. Not drop dead gorgeous or have any incredible skill set that only a child with our genes could possess.

But there must be some deep seeded, innate feeling in us, or maybe just me, that has a desire to see a child that kind of resembles each of us staring up at me.

If I was honest, I wasn’t ready to grieve and move on from that.

We put a pin in adoption and went for our fifth round of IVF.

And it worked. (Image is of when I found out.)

In the summer of 2020, after a soap opera style genetic testing process, we found out we had two healthy embryos.

We shared the news with our family, but also informed them that our doctors are strongly suggesting, if not insisting, that we use a surrogate.

I had 6 months to let that “suggestion” settle. It still ached in my bones to think of my baby growing outside of me, and all that I would never experience as a pregnant mom, but it was settling.

If it meant having our baby, it was better than not.
As we started our surrogate search and the legality that it brings, our family sat with our news.

Two weeks later I got a text from a family member…

I would love to be your surrogate if you want me.

Story cont. tomorrow🩵

This was a day before my second miscarriage.

*read previous posts before continuing*

I was being very gentle to my body, worried that one wrong step and my baby would slip out of my body, or one wrong twist would squish it.
Miscarriages do that to you.
If you are fortunate enough to get pregnant after one, every movement can elicit unreasonable fear. Every bathroom trip is terrifying, not knowing what you will see.

This easy walk was our big outing for the weekend.
The next day we were doing a Harry Potter marathon. We were in the middle of the Prisoner of Azkaban and I was snacking on a homemade chocolate peanut butter cup (or 2 or 3) when I felt something.
The one thing in the whole world I didn’t want to feel.
I set down my chocolate, wiped my fudgy fingers on a napkin, and gingerly walked to the bathroom, holding my breath the entire way.
My stomach dropped when I saw blood.
It was one of those moments that you kind of anticipate but still leave you in shock.
I mustered up the courage to call Brian into the bathroom and tell him the worst news he could receive.
Our one tough little cookie of an embryo just wasn’t tough enough for the battered and scared dwelling that was my uterus.
We called my doctor and he told us to come in.
I gazed out the window on that long drive, beating into myself all of the things I did to make this happen…
-Too much chocolate
-Too long of a walk
-Not enough of a walk
- I let Gus cuddle with me, did he squish it?
-Administering my progesterone wrong
-Being too worried
-Being too lackadaisical

It was all my fault.

The doctor confirmed that I was in fact having a miscarriage.

Again, Brian nearly carried my Gumby like body out of the doctor’s office.
The following week we had another doctor visit to discuss next steps.
After an hour of going over stats and options, I asked my doctor, “if I were your daughter, what would you tell me to do?”
His response was quick-

“Surrogacy or adoption.”
I felt shattered. I left the office exhausted and gutted.
My lifelong dream of being pregnant was slipping further out of reach.
One more thing to grieve.
*story cont. tomorrow

“You just need one tough little cookie,” my mom said about our embryo, in an attempt to lift my spirits and keep my small flame of hope burning.

*Read last week’s posts before reading more*

After one miscarriage and a second failed round, I just received the call that our third round of IVF was ending up somewhere in between.

We had one embryo that was sent off for genetic testing.

-You can opt to do GT before you transfer an embryo into the uterus to make sure the embryo is healthy. If you don’t test, our doctors said, you would most likely be transferring embryos that had no chance of survival because they weren’t healthy. Our doctors were persistent about doing testing with each round.-

My mom and I were in Chelan and I was a bit disheartened that this third round only ended with one embryo that was healthy enough to test. Again, they retrieved tons of eggs, so only having one embryo come from it didn’t make sense to us or our doctors.

About a week or so later, the geneticist called with some unfamiliar news.

Our embryo that was tested is mosaic.

Brian and I sat on the phone for over an hour as they explained that in genetic testing they basically have three classifications for the embryos- healthy, not healthy, and mosaic.

The embryo wasn’t perfectly healthy, but it wasn’t not healthy either. She went over the chromosomes that might have issues but might not, and said, in her opinion, it was worth a shot.

Our IVF doctor, on the other hand, had a different perspective. Their office didn’t transfer mosaic embryos...

Without saying it, we knew why she wasn’t up for transferring it. It was more likely to hurt their successful pregnancy stats that they can boast about online. 🙄.
The likelihood of it working was a little lower, so they didn’t want that on their hands.

But we weren’t going to throw this tough little cookie away.

Our friends were using an IVF doctor that was a little bit more creative and open to new ideas. We scheduled a consult with their office, and months later, were able to take our little mosaic embryo to him to do the transfer.
My story cont. tomorrow 🩵

We were in SeaTac airport, about to board a plane to San Francisco. My stomach was doing somersaults and everyone was pi***ng me off, as they do at airports.

But it wasn’t their fault.
*read prev posts 1st*

We were waiting for “the call”. Right outside of security, I looked at my phone and saw “PNW Fertility” blinking.

We ducked into an alcove in terminal C, nestled our heads together, and I hit the button. “Hello?”

Immediately we knew it was bad. Their first few words always give it away.

It’s the pity in their voice. The gentle way they say hello, like they are trying to tiptoe into something. The end of their greeting finishing in a low note instead of high.

She told us that our second embryo didn’t take. Not pregnant.

I abruptly said goodbye and became another puddle in Brian’s arms.

How he has always been so steady during these moments, I will never know, but I love him for it.

We made our way to our gate and sat in silence.

He texted our parents, updating them. Mine instantly called, wanting to give us a hug with their voices.
We were in disbelief and heartbroken. It was our last embryo. We’d have to go through another physically & mentally depleting round of IVF.

We tried our best to enjoy it- walking Golden Gate, visiting a local Coug bar, and finding the Full House house. But mostly I sat, curled up in our hotel room crying.

Then we decided to do a 2nd round.

I don’t have many memories of that 2nd round. It was quick & a blur.

And fruitless.

The 2nd round of IVF ended with 0 embryos, even though they retrieved 30 eggs.

My doctors were perplexed. We had the parts needed, we should be able to make embryos.

But, they were concerned with my uterus. There were no longer any fibroids, but there was a lot of scar tissue leftover from my surgeries.

At my follow up, they threw out the word surrogate.

A lump formed in my throat and the dreams I had had of being pregnant was slowly slipping out of my fingers.
I suggested we just focus on getting healthy embryos first, then asked for supplements or health advice.

“Don’t smoke pot, drink less caffeine, and take a prenatal.” ✔️✔️✔️
So we started our third round…

Story cont. tomorrow 🩵

“Lots of people have fibroids and still get pregnant,” my friend said as I filled her in on my diagnosis.

*If you didn’t read yesterday’s post, go read that first!*

I had just gone through two hysteroscopic myomectomies (where they insert a tiny scope up your vajajay that can cut them out) over 6 months to try to have them removed.

The procedures ended up cutting off pieces of my fibroids, and post surgery, the masses quickly filled in the space, rendering them unsuccessful.

“My doctor’s don’t think I can get pregnant with mine,” I explain to someone that seems to think I’m being overly dramatic.

“My fertility doctor gave us a 2% chance of having a successful pregnancy.” (At the time, the worst news I’ve ever received in my life.)

A week later I was in the hospital where my niece and nephew were just born, relishing brand new baby snuggles, when I got a call from my fertility doctor.

He wanted to go over a recent MRI. They did the MRI to see exactly how many fibroids I had and where they were. Confused as to why we didn’t do that BEFORE my other two procedures, I was ready to hear the results.

He tells me that I have too many fibroids to count in my uterus, two of which, at the top of my uterus, were giant and would be nearly impossible to carry a child with.

He suggested another surgery, but this was a bigger one- a laparoscopic myomectomy.

From my understanding, it was kind of like a c-section. But instead of one big incision, they would make 3-5 small incisions through my mid-section, that would give them the ability to take out all of my fibroids.

*This situation would come up often over the next handful of years- celebrating the pregnancies, births, and birthdays of my loved one’s children while simultaneously being shattered by news that made our hopes of becoming parents seem like light years away.*

It’s like your heart is truly torn in two, confused about how to really feel.

I asked zero questions, did virtually no research, and jumped right in.

I trusted my doctors wholeheartedly. Why shouldn’t I?

If this was the surgery to help me become a mom- I was in!

We scheduled the procedure for Jan 18th, 2018…

Story cont. tomorrow 🩵

It’s *NOT* a baby bump. It’s a fibroid the size of a grapefruit in my uterus. And it’s a big part of my journey of healing, fertility, and building resilience.

*To be fair, there’s also a little extra cushion from my love of cheese and dark chocolate 🤷🏼‍♀️

It’s strange, being a health coach and leading others to heal. When I started out, I imagined other health coaches having a perfect, healthy routine; which (I thought) meant a perfect, healthy body.
At least, that’s the image portrayed on here.

But that’s not how health and wellness work, I’ve found. At least not for me.

Because my health has taken front stage the last couple of months, I thought I would share my story with you, in case any of you find yourself in a similar boat.
And so you don’t feel alone if you don’t have the perfect health story. Bc none of us do.
Over the next few days I’ll be sharing my story. The good, bad, sad, and ugly. And the tools I’m currently using to heal.
I hope you find it helpful 🩵
Here it goes-
“ I remember the first time I was told I had fibroids.

I was laying on my back, naked from the waist down with a sheet that felt like a coffee filter covering my midsection down to my legs. The doctor put the probe in and started digging around like my uterus was a sandbox a kid was trying to find his shovel in.

She moved the probe left and right, up and down, stopping in certain places and taking images of what looked like outer space to me.

As we were finally nearing the end she poked the probe to the right of my insides and said, “you know you have fibroids, right?”

“Come again?” I said meekly, as my now bare legs were shaking from the cold and the incredibly vulnerable/awkward position I found myself in.

“Fibroids. Someone has told you you have fibroids, right?”

“I don’t think so.” I said in a more panicked voice.

“Well, I’ll print these off and send them to your Dr. She can go over them with you.”

Cool, cool, cool, I thought.

My first experience with sterile bedside manner. It felt like she ripped a band aid off I didn’t know I had on.
I got dressed, headed to the parking lot, and immediately googled fibroids.”
Story cont. tomorrow