Two weeks pass and no word from the hospital to say they've received the fax from the doctor and are offering me an appointment. I call the doctors and the harassed receptionist assures me the referral letter was faxed and I must just wait. Hmm.
Three weeks pass. I decide enough is enough and call the Infertility Unit at the hospital to see if they've received the fax. Of course they haven't, but to my amazement I get through to a real live person as I'm rushing to the station on my way to work, and am so breathless that for a moment I think she's about to hang up on me, thinking I'm some kind of heavy breathing weirdo. The lovely-sounding lady at the end of the line waits patiently while I regain my composure and begin rattling off my whole sorry tale of woe.
I picture her putting the phone on the desk, going off to the photocopier, getting a cup of coffee from the vending machine, checking her email then picking up the receiver again 20 minutes later as I continue babbling on the other end , oblivious to the fact she hasn't listened to a word.
After letting me rant for a while, she apologises for the incompetence of the system and offers to call and chase the doctor for me. My relief is palpable. Thank God, I think, I am actually dealing with a compassionate, nice, human being. They are not as common as you'd like to think.
Anyway, the upshot of it all is that I eventually got an appointment, after several phone calls, faxes, messages and pleas. Anyone would think I was trying to organise the G8 summit, not an appointment at my local hospital.
So, now it's the waiting game again. 12th May is D-Day.....