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Posts Tagged ‘retrieval’

Had the oddest dream about going to my doctor and having my vaginal walls punctured with a needle as long as my arm, which then proceeded to drill into my ovaries repeatedly, leaving me bruised-feeling and more than a little stiff with discomfort, 7 hours later.

Oh yeah.  That really did happen.  The anesthesiologist was a bit late, so I got to watch the nurse sterilizing the needle.  Oh my.  She caught me watching – apparently rather deer-in-the-headlights-eyed and said, “This is why we like to knock you out.  Very hard to get you to relax after you see this.”  Um, yeah.  That image just might stay with me for a while in my ickier nightmares.  Even if I couldn’t feel a thing, I think being around while they were using it on me would have given me the serious willies.  Ladies whose doctors don’t drug you to the gills before this procedure – I am impressed; you are awesomely brave.

Good news was that my own doctor did, indeed, come upstairs to do my retrieval even though it was his day off.  He’s a good, good, man.  More good – though not insanely great, over-the-moon – news is that he retrieved 10 eggs from my poor, overworked ovaries.  Not the 19 we had hopes for earlier in the week (and I won’t give in here to a rant here about how I suspect that had Dr. Bigshot opted for a more touchy-feely drug plan – ie: not jumping straight to ganirelix for three days in a row, we might have gotten a few more).  But 10 is a decent number – a few more than I’ve ever managed before.  And, as I usually feel compelled to point out to anyone who whines at this point in the game – 1 is all it takes.  I’ll be very happy if 3 or 4 fertilize and divide beautifully, since my first IVF we transfered 4 & last time, we transfered 3. It does sound like a 5-day transfer is out of the question, so I’ll be grateful for a good crop making it to Friday.  

As far as the procedure itself went, the anesthesiologist did not believe me -again- when I warned him about my crappy veins and ended up bending two needles on me – again.  My mighty mighty veins at work.  He also flooded my left elbow with anesthetic, having double-punctured the lousy vein there, and I haven’t yet inspected the damage.  When this happened back in May, my right hand turned boiled-lobster-red a few days later.  I foolishly Googled for info. on how serious extravasation was, and came up with some seriously gory pictures of people who’d had their chemo IVs ripped out.  Not pretty.  Apparently, though, the anesthesia they use on us for this isn’t toxic, just ugly.  I’ll heal, I just won’t be wearing short sleeves anytime soon.  Not that I would anyway – from 50 degrees yesterday, it’s still snowing since this morning.  Very strange.

So, anyway, all’s well that ends well.  The boy went & got me Tom Yum soup for lunch.  I ate it happily and then nearly fell asleep with my face in the bowl.  If I’m not mistaken, he’s planning on getting me take-out curry for dinner since I’m too achy to go out – is he great, or what?  

After a four hour nap with the dog curled up against my aching belly, this morning’s procedure feels about as distant as the ‘riding the subway’ dream that I had while actually in the clinic.  Anesthesia dreams are weird.  And I’ll be fine.  Feels like bad cramps.  Or a mild kidney infection.  I’ll survive, I’ll just whine before feeling 100%.

I’m back to work tomorrow and Thursday, then a long weekend – made longer by my transfer “day off” on Friday.  Here’s to thinking magical thoughts of dividing cells in lonely petri dishes doing the deed in Manhattan somewhere.  Hang in there, little ones, Mama’s waiting for you.

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Retrieved 10

Which is either 4 or 2 more than last time.  I honestly don’t remember.  Doc said everything looked good, and since my recovery room was right next to the embryology lab, I got to overhear them discussing the boy’s contribution, as well.  Good enough for our purposes, which is all that matters.

Feeling more than a little dopey, even a couple of hours down the road, I think I’m going to go sleep this anesthesia hangover off for a few hours.

Oh, but it was my doctor who performed the procedure, and more than one nurse/tech sidled up to me to whisper, “You did the right thing – I’d’ve insisted on him doing it, as well!”  Go me.  Go eggs.  Mix it up, kids!

G’night.

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No news

In this case, I am assuming it’s good news.  My doctor was going to call if anything changed today, so I’m going to assume that all 4 little proto-sprogs are still alive.

First PIO shot tonight, and I started the pessaries last night.  Blech.  However, today also began my “pineapple for breakfast” week, so that’s a good thing.  And this is my last day on the massive dose of prednisone.  Which is good.  I’m feeling bloated enough as it is.  Almost all the post-retrieval crampiness/kidney soreness is mostly gone, just a bit in the morning that goes away once I’m up and in the shower. 

And I took an HPT this morning so I can track the trigger shot leaving my system.  I did that last time so I could verify when I was back to zero according to the internet-cheap tests.  That way, I can start obsessively testing in another 10 days or so without worrying that I’m reading the trigger shot.  It’s still a faint positive, so I’ll test again in another 3 days or so just to make sure it’s gone before it – I hope – goes up again.

And thank you to everyone who’s been commenting.  It makes me feel not nearly so alone, and not nearly so hopeless. 

New mantra:

It only takes one.
It only takes one.
It only takes one.

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…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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 …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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