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Posts Tagged ‘anesthesia’

…though that’s not saying a whole lot.

Wow anesthesia knocks me for a loop!  Even when I get out from under it and I could swear that I’m functioning just fine, thank you very much, it’s pretty obvious, afterwards, that I was nowhere near “fine” for many many hours later.

Looped out of my gourd, more like.

Quite crampy tonight.  I napped most of the day, and the dog napped with (read: “on top of”) me.  Which could have something to do with the loginess.  Also could have something to do with the damned prednisone.  This shit kicks my ass.  

It looks like Wednesday will be my transfer day, and I’m planning on taking the day off work.  Tomorrow, which I also have off work, I should hear from the nurse regarding fertilization numbers, and I’m hoping that everything went ok.  Damn, this is all so nervewracking!  I keep telling myself that I’m not getting my hopes up, because this is probably a crap cycle and I’ve sort of suspected that from the beginning.  But then I remember that the last time I didn’t have my hopes up, & I was so wonderfully and totally surprised, and how nice that was, and how much I’d like it to happen again.

And then I try to shut it down and think of making a pie or something.  Something that I have some control over, anyway.

Not much else here.  I’ve started one of the pessaries (blech) that my doctor prescribes.  Ah well, it was a nice month of so of not leaking from any orifice.  The other prescription will start up after transfer.  PIO will begin on Tuesday, and Lovenox on Wednesday.  Tuesday will also see the last of the massive pred. doses, and Wednesday will be my last antibiotic.  I’m a walking cesspool of chemicals at the moment.

But I am 6 eggs lighter than I was 24 hours ago, so that’s got to be a good thing.

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Not anywhere near as many as I wanted to see, but about as many as I was expecting.  Still find it very weird that 6 months ago, on fewer stims & without DHEA, I was able to produce 12 eggs.  Talk about the one’s fertile days dropping off precipitously once they start to drop…

So even if we had been willing to try another round with my eggs if this one doesn’t work, I don’t think the doctor would be up for it.  Geriatric eggs, hobbling around my innards, talking about the good old days of yore, comparing medical notes and complaining about scrambled eggs for breakfast again.

Don’t feel too crappy, just a bit crampy and dopey.  Don’t ask me anything complicated, because I won’t be able to keep track of my answer, apparently.

Off in search of apple cider, because suddenly nothing will do but that I need hot apple cider.  

Best thing about fall.

Yawn.

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…which may be kind of loopy, since I’m still a bit out of it.  

It went without much of a hitch, other than the anesthesiologist having to perform the obligatory rooting around in both elbows and the backs of both hands for suitable veins.  My hands officially hurt more right now than my nether regions, and I think will be a longer time in healing.  Big, swollen bruises that jab me every time I, you know, lift a finger.  

So even if housework hadn’t been specifically proscribed, I’d be unable to do much of anything.   Darn the luck.

And after the anesthesiologist got frustrated because he’d bent a second needle on my mighty mighty veins, I started rambling aloud (unfortunately) that this must be my superpower.  Bending needles.  Which really was a pretty crap superpower when you got right down to it.  RE chimed in with the helpful comment that it’s actually a good one if the villain happens to be armed with, you know, needles.  The anesthesiologist didn’t take too kindly to that one, and it was that image that chased me into Neverland.  I woke up from a dream of being chased through the subway by needle-wielding villainous anesthesiologists to a sense of profound relief that I was only sprawled legs-up in a tiny surgery, having just had needles jammed through the walls of my vagina.  

It’s all a matter of perspective, you see.  

They retrieved 6 eggs.  Out of 10 follicles.  Which had me a bit bummed.  RE said it’s typical, not to worry, it’s fine.  But I do worry.  Six isn’t so many.  Though I suppose it eases my fears that we’ll have too many perfect embryos to choose from.  *rolls eyes self-deprecatingly*  

I was sitting there, trying not to get weepy about my sorry, sorry egg-quality when the office sort of went into a uproar because they’d just admitted a woman who was hyperstimulating.  They hustled me to get dressed & then I sat, trying to get my eyes to focus on the medication instructions I’d been handed.  

“Any questions?”  It was the mean tech upstairs, unfortunately.  

“Actually, yes, I do.  It says “Saturday” here, to start taking the Progesterone, but it also says “Saturday, the evening before your 3-day transfer”. Which is scheduled for Monday.  So do I start it on Saturday or Sunday?”

She grabbed it out of my hand, scribbled out “Saturday” & scribbled in “Sunday”, and said, “Oh yeah, my mistake.  But you might not be coming in on Monday anyway.  It’s a holiday, you know.  Maybe we’ll do a four-day transfer instead.”

“What?!?”  (Actually, let me try to reproduce that more precisely:  “What!?!?!?!?”

“Well, it’s Memorial Day, you know.  The nurse might have the day off.”

“Well, since I just spent a month jabbing myself with needles, submitting to humiliating procedures, AND paying out ungodly sums of money – and let’s not even get INTO the emotional aspects of this process, I suggest you get someone in here to do the transfer whenever it’s goddamned optimal – for my embryo, not for your workweek!”  I did not say.

After that, I rode the antique elevator back down to the first floor.  Pestered the receptionist until she told me, no, not to worry, we’re open on Monday.  It will happen then.  

Me worry?

So, my darling boyfriend, who’d been waiting for me in the lobby took one look at me and said, “We’re getting a cab.”  I didn’t argue since I was feeling sort of like shit.  Came home, I watched some Buffy DVDs, since we currently have workmen replacing windows in the house and there was really nowhere to go to be away from them.  Figured I might as well do some handwork and try to imagine how a superhero with needle-bending powers could ever fit into the Buffyverse.  

I’m still thinking it’s a crap superpower.

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