You've flown a few hundred miles and they manage to see you on time.
When you are called from the waiting room you are escorted into a nice private room with good magazines and soon after a student/resident with a friendly smile comes in. She explains she is here to listen to your story and take you case history. And she listens. REALLY listens. For like, at least a half hour.
When about 10 minutes after the resident leaves, your new RE walks in the room, looks you straight in the eye and says, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am pretty confident about what is going on here." And it becomes clear that this doctor listened to the description from his student.
When your new RE proceeds to whip out a handy plastic model uterus, placing it before you. And says, "I believe that the majority of your scar tissue is here (pointing to cervical canal). I am also pretty sure that your cramps are actually a good sign, there is healthy endometrium in your uterus that is shedding each month. Your upper uterus could well be scar-free"
When you note aloud that no one has believed you up to this point, he says, "I believe a patient knows best about what's going on in her body." And for a moment you would bear this guy's children you're so happy.
When he continues on, saying, "After I review you via ultrasound, I will take you in an operating room and cut away the scar tissue. I am going to use scissors. If you're in pain I will stop. In a case like yours I will not be using any kind of estrogen treatment because it doesn't make an impact on cervical scarring." Guys, he's explaining what he's going to do. He's treating me like an adult! And he's respecting my potential pain!
When he makes no promises. "Cervical scarring is often prone to returning and requires some follow-up, a few visits every two weeks to your local doctor will be fine, all he or she needs to do is probe your cervical canal with a pipelle to clear the cavity of any filmy tissue that could return. And if it returns after that you will come back to me and I will remove it again."
When he sees the aghast look on your face because you believe quite strongly your local doctor is an incompetent asshole. "Any doctor, even your gynecologist can do this," he says kindly. "Here, let me show you a pipelle, so you can see what I'm talking about." (proceeds to grab what looks like a really long q-tip).
When he takes you in for a plain old ultrasound and points to the screen and says, "Yes, see here? Those are some adhesions." And you're really fucking impressed because you have learned that most doctors will never be able to identify Asherman's on an ultrasound, yours sure didn't.
When you're lying on an operating table, staring up at a helpfully calming picture of a beach, and squeezing your eyes shut after about maybe, 5 minutes, because you know that he's applied betadine to your ladyparts, and then you can feel something really fucking uncomfortable (that would be the scope going in and up, and probably the micro-scissors), but then he says, "Open your eyes, do you want to see? I've just cleared your cavity. Here, look at this monitor."
When you look at the monitor, as instructed by a doctor who wants you informed and understanding of your surgery, in real-time, you are amazed because he is moving the camera around inside of you and showing you the cervical canal he's just cleared, as well as your fallopian tubes, which he sees are beautifully clear (his words). You realize, he really does want you to take ownership of your body and your health.
When he finishes up, he asks how much ibuprofen you took and then jokes, "your stomach will feel worse than my surgery did from 800mg."
When after you've finished changing your clothes he prints out beautiful color pictures of your clear and healthy uterus, a lovely keepsake from Boston, along with a full description of diagnosis, treatment and follow-up instructions about that pipelle.
When you rush back to the waiting room to greet your husband, with tears in your eyes and you say, "I'm fixed." And he looks confused, and you say, "He did it. It's done. He cleared all of the scarring. I'm not infertile anymore."
When you and your husband can sit in Doyle's Pub in Jamaica Plain about an hour after your surgery, eating clam chowder, drinking a beer, marveling at your color picture-vajayay-keepsake, and truly know with every fiber of your being that you just spent the best $500 dollars of your life on flights and a hotel room.*
When you state that Keith would make a lovely first name for a baby boy.
*Dr. Isaacson is in your PPO network, so you're crossing your fingers that you don't wind up with out-of-pocket costs on your surgery.