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Posts Tagged ‘Lupron’

lupron & the three-headed sprog

Ok, so Dr. Google offered up the information that taking Lupron after ovulation begins does not actually lead to a higher risk of birth defects, it leads to a higher risk of miscarriage, due to the effects Lupron has on the pituitary, endometrium, etc.

Hence the supplementary PIO + prometrium pessaries.

I feel better now.  Not fantastic (and, damn! I wish it had even occurred to me to take a PG test last week!) but better about Lupron-sprog’s chances.

Maybe she’ll only have two heads?

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…were the weapons of choice in my scary-ass nightmares last night.  Really sharp melon-ballers, I should specify, I suppose.  Trust me, it was a nasty dream.  And I kept waking up, assuring myself that no melon-ballers, sharp or otherwise, were anywhere near me, and then I’d drowse off again and be right back in cantaloupe hell.

Whafuck? 

See, I don’t have nightmares.  I generally remember my dreams (and just be grateful that I choose not to torment you all with day-by-day accountings of them!), and they are almost always fun, weird, linear, logical, interesting, etc.  I love to sleep because it, um, means I get to go to dreamland, where things are, well, nice.   

Nightmares totally suck.  

Not much else going on here.  Waiting for a period, hoping it stays on schedule so that my days off actually provide some benefit for proto-sproglings’ womb environment.  Only a week left until my next bloodwork, US appointment.  I have so missed those early morning schleps to the clinic.  Hah.

Seriously, I’m off to work, I’ll try to nap on the train.  If you happen to read news reports of a woman freaking out on the M-line in Brooklyn and accusing her fellow passengers of attacking her with a silicon spatula, you’ll know I’m still in the grip of loopy-ron.  Explain my situation to the good doctors over at Bedlam, would you?

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 …not the least of which was the computer meltdown.  

Ahem.  No, it’s still not fixed, & it’s prone to random fatal errors.  So I’ll try to get all this out before another one occurs.  

Monday’s appointment went well.  This time, I asked if my doctor would tell me what he was seeing as he was seeing it.  He not only agreed, but he tipped the US screen so I could see it, pointed out interesting landmarks along the way, and then quizzed me at the end. 

Seriously.  

And, as I recited back to him, the upshot of Monday’s appointment was that I had 7 promising follicles on my left ovary, 2 on my right, and the 2 big ‘uns seemed to be lagging behind their previous growth rate in order to finish maturing with their littermates.  All good.  At an average size of 13mm, he figured we’d be ready to trigger in 3, maybe 4 days.  So we made an appointment for Wednesday (today) for an update.  

Update as of this morning:  “Congratulations.  You’re there,” were just about the only words out of his mouth.  Woohoo!  “How big are they?” I asked.  “Big enough.  Good cycle so far.”  Doc says it’s going good, I’m happy.  And, hey, quicker than I’d hoped for.  So tonight’s the trigger shot *anticipatory wince* and Friday morning, I’ll go in, go under, and come out 9 eggs (&, I wish, about 7 pounds) lighter.   But I’ll settle for the egg-retrieval to go without a hitch.  I’m pleased it’s an early morning appointment, since I figure everyone will be perkier at that time of day & will be paying extra-special attention to me and my surgery.  There was a pregnant woman in this morning, waiting for an ultrasound.  It was all I could do not to stare at her.  You mean this works?  It really works sometimes?  As easy as that?

And, the timing of this is about as tidy as I could ask for.  Doing this on the Friday before Memorial Day means that while I have to take Friday off, I already have Saturday, Sunday & Monday off.   It means I’ll have all day Friday, Saturday & Sunday for recuperation & then a possible transfer on Monday (Or is it Tuesday?  Don’t really know where that three-day make gets calculated from).  All of these are days I don’t have to take off work.  Also a good thing.  Of course, I’m hoping these eggs all fertilize so nicely and go so strong that they decide to do a 5-day transfer instead on Wednesday (or Thursday?).  Because I’m just greedy that way.

And I just had my last Lupron shot.  Yay!  And my last Repronex shot.  YAY!  When the boyfriend comes home, we’ll do some drawing on my ass with a sharpie marker, and then, I’ll let him live out every boy’s dream and instruct him to spank the tar out of me.  Or at least out of that outer quadrant of my ass, as per instructions from the nurse.  Anything to distract me from the incoming needle.  The incoming inch-and-a-half needle.  Oi.  And the bad news is, I’ll be on six times the amount of steroid I’ve been on to date.  If the steroid dosage I’ve been on is what’s caused the unexplainable weight gain, then being on 6 times that, means that in a week, I’ll weigh approximately as much as the incredible Hulk in his Non-David-Brinner phase.  Plus, the nausea is supposed to get a lot worse.

It’s not easy being green.

So, fingers crossed.  Butt-cheek unclenched.  Nerves frayed.  Tomorrow is an injection-free day, except for the morning blood-draw, and I plan to enjoy my unpunctured-ness.  Last pain-free day for a while, if everything goes well, as I so sincerely hope it does.  

And, maybe tomorrow I’ll be buying a new computer so I have something to do for those three days that I’m whimpering over my poor punctured girl-goods.

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…in fact, it’s not all that exciting anymore.  No, that’s not true.  I’m getting the jitters when it’s almost time to do it, just because it’s fun to be doing SOMETHING active instead of sitting around and moping that I’m alone and childless.  But this sub-q injection thing?  Easy-peasy.  Even at four a day.  My mother thinks I’m some kind of long-suffering heroine.  That’s not it, though.  I’m just desperate, next mother’s day, to have something to celebrate besides my own, wonderful mother.  

So my first four-shot day is over, and the boyfriend is on the other side of the country at a writing workshop.  I’m missing him rather a lot.  It was totally my decision to go ahead with IVF this month, even knowing he’d be away for a good bit of it.  I don’t regret that, and I certainly wouldn’t have wanted him to give up going to this.  But I miss him.  I’d rather he was here; even though he doesn’t like to watch or even think about what I’m doing in the bathroom morning and night, it’s still good to know he’s up for dispensing a bit of sympathy if I need it.  

Walked around a lot today, in search of Galapagos clothing.  My leg really seems to have recovered almost entirely, which is amazing to me.  This time last week I was in serious pain when I tried to walk on it, it just wouldn’t respond but seized up.  I was honestly certain I’d be hobbling for weeks at least.  But it’s better.  My body is my own again, and I’m having a hard time remembering to be gentle to it.  No jogging across the street.  No super-shaking stretches as I lie in bed in the morning.  (which I miss).  But it was good to be reminded that no matter how much I occaisionally feel that my body has betrayed me, it’s still a pretty amazing little animal I live within.  

And, optimist that I am, I ordered a swim suit online.  Of course, I spent far more on the cover-up than I will on the suit, but that’s only right since I fully intend to cover up my bruised, lumpy IVF body when I’m around anyone who isn’t Sam.   Unless of course I’m boogie boarding.  Which I suppose is a game that’s probably not happening this summer.  If I catch this egg.

Tried to eat a focaccia at a Williamsburg bakery, but it was nasty and dry – I threw it out.  Got out of Macy’s at about 4 & tried a pretzel, which was stale – threw it out.  Got home, ate chicken pot pie and brownies.  The more brownies.  Argh.  Brownies are my nemesis.  Or at least the nemesis of my diet.  Same thing, sort of.  

Injection site bled today, and the lupron spot I picked hurt more than it has before.  I did, however, use the mixing-tips that the pharm. company included, to good effect.  I’ll certainly do that tomorrow as well to simplify the 6-amp brazelle mixing protocol that took well over 10 minutes this morning.  I’m going to have to get up earlier in the morning for this on work days, though, since I’m working late tomorrow and Thursday, and going in at 10 on Tuesday and Wednesday, it’s not as dire as I’m making it sound.

And I called my mother and got to talk to my grandma, and my Aunt Mary, who apparently know all about what I’m going through.  I knew when I told my mom that she’d immediately tell her family, but I didn’t realize she’d tell them so quickly.  But my aunt was remarkably kind, nearly brought me to tears.  Grandma sounded a little confused, but also offered her best wishes and prayers.  Hell, I’m even accepting prayers from the crazy dude at work who claims to have a direct line to god’s ear at 9:30 each night.  “Watch for something good to happen to you, health-wise,” he says.  “You’re a good person, my friend.  A good worker.  God wants you to be happy.”  

From his crazy-talkin’ mouth to G-d’s ear, I guess.  

Off to watch Buffy. 

Here’s hoping for a more celebratory Mother’s Day next year.

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It’s a little weird.  Being an old lady of 38, I have to mix SIX bottles of powdered medicine with one of water, but it went relatively smoothly, and I’m thinking tonight’s (Repronex) will be easier, since it’s only two.  

I hardly hesitated at all this morning with jabbing myself in the gut with a needle.  

All that chub comes in handy for once.  Painless shots.  Plus my latent fear of developing diabetes or a form of MS like my mom’s that requires daily shots – pretty much gone now.  I can do this.  It’s not even a big deal.  Who’d’ve ever thought I could be blase about self-injections?  

At Borders last night during Sam’s reading, I found a book I want to request from the library (because I’m too cheap to buy it if I can read it for free).  Called The Complete Organic Pregnancy.  And yes, before you ask, I’m well aware of the irony in that, as I massage another dose of purified menopausal women’s urine into my poor infertile body.  

Ah well.  Time enough for organics when I’m knocked up.

And even though I know the (dismal) success rates and I know there’s no reason at all to assume I’ll be one of the lucky ones who only has to go through this once, I’m still feeling giddy.  This could work.  This could really work, and so I’m concentrating hard on that possibility, so as not to get panicky about the alternative.  

Or maybe the dizziness from taking Lupron has just set in.

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