Last Monday night, when I got the go-ahead to begin my new round of meds I loaded my pen like I was told, attached a syringe, and plunged the thing into my belly. Just like an insulin pen, you determine how much medication you want to dose out, dial the pen to that number, and then push. Like the dutiful student I did this, but nothing moved. "This thing isn't working!" I hollered at Matt. You need to turn it, he said. Starting over, I removed the syringe and inserted it again. Still didn't budge. Then again two more times sticking it into a different part of my stomach flesh. I don't think you're suppose to constantly remove a syringe and then re-insert it, but hell, I was tired and frustrated and a little more dimpling on my abdomen wasn't going to hurt a thing. Finally Matt grabbed the pen out of my hands, inserted it, and well, turned and pushed down. "Like this, K," he said, irritated (which says a lot because this boy does not get irritated). Oh. Okay.
And so we have begun our IVF medications. Because of my questionable mental capacity, Matt now gives me my shots every morning and night. "Get up, get up, get up, it's shot time!" I say as I nudge his back, already on my feet and dressed. I think Matt finds this particularly annoying as I get up a good hour before his alarm crows but I tell him, "This is how you become involved in the process!" "Umf," he says. He then scurries downstairs to the refrigerator for the meds and hands me an alcohol wipe as he attaches a syringe. His eyes are still closed for most of this.
Every ultrasound tech I have says some variation of the same thing: "I don't know how they're gonna get to that right ovary!" Apparently, the thing is practically ensconced in bowel and I'm known as the "Crohn's girl" at the office. Actually, it's more like this: they stick the ultrasound wand in and then say, "Ohhh...you're the Crohn's girl aren't you?" as they fumble around to find the things and then say I'm "gassy" for the fifth consecutive time. I relayed this to the doctor who told me to relax, the ovaries drop when they are full with follicles and anyway, they can sort of move things around in there when I'm on the table. If worse comes to worse, they can go through your abdomen for the retrieval (they usually go through the vaginal wall which I think is just as unsavory).
I have 12 eggs that are or will be a viable size and several more that are too small (but I am hoping they catch up between now and the egg retrieval). That's a good number but, of course, I wanted to push the envelope and get closer to 20. Of the eggs extracted there is no way to tell at this point which ones will be - for the lack of a better term - grade A and actually fertilize.
I return tomorrow for monitoring (blood work and an ultrasound) to see how those suckers are growing, but right now my egg retrieval (ER) may very well be this Friday or Saturday. My embryo transfer (ET) could be anytime from 2 - 5 days later, with two days of bed rest following. By then it will almost be Christmas, and I'm thankful for the hoopla and distraction. And, frankly, I'm sick of this baby-making business! (As I'm sure you are too!) Here goes!