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.