Posts Tagged ‘Dr. Bigshot’

Heard back from the tech, and everything’s a go.  Except she wasn’t sure if my Dr. or Dr Bigshot was going to be performing the procedure.  She wanted to know if I wanted her to ask my doc. to do it.  

Um yeah.  Please do.  

Given that Dr. Bigshot misdiagnosed the “adenomyosis”, totally missed the lurking embryo-as-cause-of-post-miscarriage-bleeding, has the bedside manner of a 3-year-old who’d rather be anywhere else, dislikes me almost as much as I dislike him, etc.  I really don’t trust him to a) do right by me by being as careful as he can possibly be. or b) remember how to operate the US wand + the needle at the same time.  

Big needle + Dr. Bigshot = panicky patient.  Oi.  

More after the retrieval at 10am.


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Woo Damn Hoo.

I was told to get to my clinic at 8am sharp.  Being a considerate-of-others sort of gal, I was happy to oblige, even though it meant getting up at about 6 in order to negotiate the crazy non-functional weekend subway system.  But ok, fine.  Got there at 8 on the dot, only to hear that Dr. Bigshot was delayed due to being interviewed by Channel 2?  NBC?  Don’t watch the news, don’t care to start, but whatever, my irritating substitute doctor was gonna be late.

And he was.  By, like, an hour.


Good news is that even though my ovaries feel like they’re going to explode messily, I’m going to be ok til retrieval on Tuesday.  Although I do have to take an early antagon shot this afternoon.  Trigger shot is at midnight tonight, with new oral meds tomorrow (and an early morning blood draw to double check that the HCG injection worked.)  Then nothing til Tuesday am, bright and early – I will take off the whole day, and I’m already looking forward to it!  Transfer will be Friday, so I’ll miss the NY ComiCon, which is a shame, but I’m thinking that I really won’t feel up to hauling around all the freebies that vendors tend to load librarians down with on the pro day.  

Really good news is that he measured 8 follicles between 19 & 21 mm, and it looked to me like there were a ton he simply didn’t bother measuring.  This is still looking like a good cycle, despite my paranoid fears that my sore-to-the-touch breasts were heralding an early ovulation that was going to put the kibosh on this cycle.

(Sprogblogger breathes a giant sigh of relief.)

Now I get to start gearing up for big needles again.  Here’s to having to take 12 weeks of big needles, eh?

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Have I mentioned before how much I hate Dr. Bigshot?  Excuse me while I rant.

I just got a call from the tech telling me that they want me to stay on the 6 vials of Bravelle and the 1/2 dose of Antagon, but they want to up my dose of Menopur to 3 vials.  Which tells me that perhaps even the half-dose of Antagon slowed things down a bit more than they’d thought it would.  Ok, fine, glad they’re on top of it, etc.  Only thing is, Dr. Bigshot doesn’t want to see me until Sunday.  (And it will be Dr. Bigshot, she warned me.)

So tomorrow, I’m flying blind and hoping that this cycle doesn’t get entirely cocked up because he’s too bloody arrogant to deal with one more Saturday appointment.  Nevermind that I haven’t responded the way they’ve thought to ANY of the meds.  Nevermind that my doc has been watching me like a bloody hawk because of this, keeping me on an every-day-schedule since Tuesday.  No, Dr. Bigshot is going to skip a day – on the day he changes my meds.

I swear to dog, if this cycle goes overboard because of him I’m going to raise a stink you should be able to smell all the way across the country.  

Only good thing is that even if my retrieval happens on Tuesday, which is my doc’s day off, he’ll still be in the building and the nurse was pretty positive he’d still be doing my retrieval.  

Assuming I get to have a retrieval.  Assuming everything didn’t just take a turn for the rotten.

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I had to submit to a wanding by Dr. Bigshot, who came into the room hollering at his nurse – who happens to be an exceedingly efficient woman – and generally making a nuisance of himself.  She apologized profusely for him, and I just felt badly for her.  

Nah, that’s not true – I felt badly for myself, too.  He’s rough with that damned wand, and he keeps my heels hiked up to my ass, and he doesn’t even turn the US screen so I can see.  He did grudgingly admit that I’m responding well to the stims, though, and said I’d be HCG’ing on Sunday or Monday for a Tuesday or Wednesday retrieval.  So that’s good.  I probably won’t even have to buy a few make-up doses of Bravelle.  

But, every time I go to the clinic, now, Dr. Bigshot is yelling at someone, or the receptionists are rolling their eyes and whispering about how Dr. Bigshot didn’t like their coffee mugs, for heavens’ sake.  

Now.  I’ve noticed that I’ve had the place all to myself recently.  When I asked, I was told that January is always a slow month at clinics, since people are recovering from the holidays, etc.  I wonder, though, if the economic downturn is more to blame.  I wonder if Dr. Bigshot is feeling a bit of economic stress – either personal or professional – and is taking it out on his staff (and on those of us patients who are not enamored of his reputation).  Whatever it is, I wish he’d get off it & go into his office and hide out for a while until he can be civil and calm.  Daily dildo-camming appointments suck hard enough that I’d rather not have to deal with a doctor’s angst on top of my own.  Not to mention the fact that all of my veins are now giving up the ghost and bruising when a tech so much as looks at them.  Ouch.  

My jeans are tight, despite having walked nearly 6 miles yesterday, and I’m bloating something terrible.  Not only that, but since we’ll be going to stepdaughter’s dance performance tonight, I’ll be administering my injection & a half in a public-restroom again.  Joy.  Maybe one of her classmates can glimpse me shooting up in the school potty & report back to her.  Oh blech.  

However, I’m feeling really good about this cycle.  I don’t want to have to deal with frozen embryos, but I really really want a chance to go to a 5 day transfer.  So, of course, I spent yesterday’s google-waste-of-time looking up success rate comparisons between 3 & 5 day transfers.  I’ve done the 8-celled embryo transfer – Baby, I want a blastocyst!  (Or two.  Or three.)

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…and we’re still holding out at least another day before triggering.

Dr. Bigshot was my doctor.  Again.  And he was 2 hours late.  Again.  Ask me how much I care about his presentation.  Answer: Not even a little tiny bit.

He wouldn’t tell me how many follicles he was looking at, though there were certainly more visible than last time.  By listening to his murmurred words to the nurse as he measured a few of them, I could hear that they weren’t growing quickly.  The largest – I think – was right around 17mm, though there seem to be many more that were smaller.  This doesn’t seem to bode well for my chances of a successful retrieval, and he – of course – couldn’t be bothered to tell me what his thoughts are.  “Is fine, is fine.”  Well, last time Dr. Bigshot assured me that “is fine,” my poor, failing-to-thrive embryo died in utero.  A possibility that I might have been warned about – or at least prepared myself for, had I been given better info on size, heartbeat rate, etc. – beforehand.  If I haven’t made myself clear yet, let me just say that I have no confidence in this doctor. 

And, unforuntately, he seems to be my new doctor at this clinic. 


(okay, deep breath.)  What I do know is this:  I’ll be triggering either Thursday night or Friday night, for a Saturday or Sunday retrieval.  If I trigger tomorrow, I’ll be learning to give myself the IM shot on the fly.  Damnit.  Though at least the boy will be around this weekend to pick me up and to do his manly duty in providing a fresh specimin, so we won’t have to rely on the frozen swimmers still in storage.  That’s a good thing.  

I should count my blessings, but this delay is also causing major problems with my insurance coverage for meds.  I will be out of Bravelle tomorrow morning, but my insurance only covers 3 “doses” of IVF meds and this is my second IVF.  So, rather than order the 10 vials or so that would see me through the end of this cycle, I’ll be getting a special rush order of the full 100 or so.  And if we go through a donor next time, I’ll just have to hope she’s prescribed Bravelle, or I’ll be paying for it out of pocket since my doctor didn’t prescribe anything as a backup, in case my low-responderness caused me to respond slowly.  Which it did.


I am so frustrated, feeling so out of the loop of this whole reproduction thing.  I work in a library.  With children.  And parents.  And I get so bitter with all these women mindlessly reproducing, having more kids than they’re equipped for, more kids than they want.  And all I want, everything I’m aiming for in my life isn’t enough to bring it about even with all the medical intervention in the world.   I think I’ll always – even if this does, eventually, work – carry around a little seed of bitterness toward all those women who are able to conceive by simply, you know, fucking the man they love.  I am tired of my whole life being contained in a several-inches-thick folder detailing exactly how physically unfit to be a mother I apparently am.  I am tired of being “the lady with the veins” or “ah yes, you are a low responder” or – my favorite – “this is simply a case of prematurely aging ovaries.”

Why thank you, yes, that’s me.  I am my disfunctional reproductive system.

And I’m tired of this clinic treating us all as if our time – all 15-odd women who were waiting for Dr. Bigshot this morning – was not nearly as valuable as his.  I’m tired of explaining to blood-techs that even though the vein in my right elbow looks good, it’s actually scarred and mutilated from the last 6 months of blood draws and will hurt like hell if they insist – no really.  Really!  Ouch!  Goddamnit that hurts!  And it’s going to bruise like a son-of-a-bitch.  Yes, next time I’ll tell you.  Again.  And you’ll ignore me.  Again.

Tired of everything hurting and being so hard.  Tired of all of this.  Just tired. 

Whiny, too. – in case you hadn’t noticed.

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Though it was another appointment with Dr. Bigshot.  Making me happy I stuck to my guns and forced my doctor to deal with my questions last week.  Argh.

Anyway, my pathology report came back from the D&C, and it was as suspected, nothing cancerous, nothing but what he expected to see.  

This morning’s appointment went a bit smoother than they have been going – Dr. Bigshot gave the impression of someone trying to make a better impression, somehow.  I’ve got at least 6 follicles developing, though they’re not growing as quickly as they might, they are growing at a workable rate – the largest were at 12 or 13 mm, up from around 7mm three days ago.  So unless I hear otherwise when I call for results this afternoon, I’ll be going in on Wednesday, and – I suspect – triggering that evening for a Friday retrieval.  

Why do I suspect such a thing?  Because the boy will be out of town on Friday, that’s why.  And the way my timing-luck has gone this cycle, that’s about the only day that retrieval COULD happen and still interfere with something I have no control over.  Argh.  He’ll bring in an emergency sperm sample to be frozen on Tuesday, and that should work out just fine.  I suppose it’s better this way than if I’m trying to give the trigger shot to myself.  Which would be scary.  

Won’t know much else until this afternoon, and even then, I expect the message to be no more than “continue with your meds as you have been and we’ll see you on Wednesday.”  

Off to take the dog for a run.  Fingers crossed and maybe the rest of this cycle will not be such an emotional roller coaster.

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…as it seemed this afternoon.  Ok, apologies for the earlier freak-out.  At about 3 or so, I finally got in touch with my doctor.  My real doctor.  The doctor who actually seems to care whether or not I lose my mind during this process.  Which still might happen.

He does not yet have the pathology report from my surgery.  I asked him to please make some inquiries and get it.  It’s been almost 2 months.  Surely it’s available by now, or a percentage of the surgery center’s biopsy patients would die while waiting for results.  I don’t care if everything looked fine to the naked eye.  If I pay $6000 for a surgery & pathology work-up, I want to get the results from said work-up.  No, I really do. 

Apparently, although Dr. Bigshot claimed that my doctor prescribed the Lovenox, my doctor claims that Dr. Bigshot prescribed it. 

(Sprogblogger throws hands up in the air in frustration.) 


Regardless of who actually prescribed it, Lovenox is not being prescribed for a clotting disorder, but rather for a suspected immune disorder.  Not too surprising either, given my family history.  Good to know for sure, though.

Finally, and to my relief, my doctor looked into my file (the same file that was in Dr. Bigshot’s hand when I asked the question & received the ambiguous and upsetting answer,) and was able to tell me that at this point in my previous cycle, I only had 5 visible follicles even though he retrieved 12 eggs.  So, with that as evidence, my doctor said, “This is still very early days.  Your estradiol numbers are fine, you’re a low responder, but you’re definitely responding.  Therefore, given your documented history, we’re not worried at this point and you shouldn’t be either.” Which was the right answer to put my mind at ease.  (Instead of Dr. Bigshot’s response which was: “We do not cancel cycles at this clinic when patients are on the maximum allowed meds, like you are.”) Then he walked out of the room.  All the bedside manner of a Cossack, as my husband observed, (with apologies to Cossacks.)


Ok, I think I can safely say that the hormonal craziness has begun.  Don’t know whether it’s related to the mental breakdown or not, but I spent the day sweating through hot-flashes and fighting the urge to alternately weep and scream.  Plus my hands are shaky, which could just be the emotional upheaval.  I do not react well to frustration and fear.  Never have, and these days, it’s like I’m on a hair-trigger for panic-stations. 

I hate feeling so much at the mercy of my body and whatever chemical pool I’m swimming in at the moment.  In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that it’s what I hate the most out of this whole IVF nastiness.  Not the needles, nor the massive inconvenience, nor even the underlying uncertainty.  It’s the day-to-day battle with myself when I can’t be certain if the angst and terror I feel is justified, or if it’s hormonally induced.

I was very proud of myself, last cycle, when I refrained from handing my darling boy a letter (a screed)detailing all the ways I felt so very put upon.  I held onto just barely enough self-restraint to realize that it would be better, perhaps, to wait a few days to make certain I really wanted to say those things.  Turns out that was the right choice.  I really didn’t want to say those things, and I’m really glad I didn’t.  I think I need to apply that lesson to my dealings with people in general until this is all over. 

Deep breath.

Count to three million and thirty-three.

Stay away from Dr. Google.

Deep breath.

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