I’m getting so nervous. And I feel so uncomfortable. I’ve been waking up at 5 AM for the past few days, because every position that I lie in just feels twisted, like my stomach is a balloon being warped by some children’s party clown. Usually animals make me happy, but not at 5 am. Not today.
I am watching Grey’s Anatomy, which is probably a bad idea. But I keep reading over my notes about what I’m supposed to do, and not do.
I went in to the clinic for my 9:45 blood test. They should know by noon (by now anyways) if all is well. I was told not to do anything to disrupt my pelvis; no lifting, no running, no sex, no Zumba. How specific. Let it rest.
I took my two shots of Decapeptyl last night. The amount (volume) in the shots felt like a lot. It was pretty smooth sailing, now that I’m an expert self-injector.
Started reading all the ‘what to expect during your procedure’ stuff. I’m glad I have it. I worry and have mild but real anxiety. The Ativan should help with that, they said. Not going to lie though, I’m antsy about having them administer Fentanyl during my procedure tomorrow. People are literally dying from it. I had an actual conversation with Allia that if I start ‘crashing,’ don’t wait for the lab techs to call 911, do it. Look like a fool. Don’t let me die. I was half serious. Thanks, Grey’s Anatomy.
Talked to my bestie who has been through all this before. She is due in two weeks and had a terrible, 7 year slog towards FINALLY keeping a pregnancy. She had lots of calming, soothing words and tidbits of advice. Namely, she said she did everything ‘right’ and had terrible results, but now with her little one on the way, she thinks the best thing she did was realize there isn’t one right way; whatever gets you through the stress of it. She went out for lunch and laughed all through the meal with a friend right after her implantation procedure. So, when I asked her if I should try to stay home Tuesday, following Monday’s visit she said:
‘But you LOVE Hallowe’en! Won’t you be sad to be at home thinking about your uterus and ovaries, when you could be with your students, talking about cultural appropriation, wearing a costume, learning Thriller (*don’t worry, I have two students teaching it, since I’m on ‘no Zumba’ doctor’s orders) and spending time doing something you like?’
So, I’m keeping it low-key today. Marking away. 18 of 31 essays done. 12 of 23 dance tests done. And Allia is doing all kinds of stuff around the house, including baking me buckwheat banana muffins. She turned to me and said:
Think about this; how many more days like this will there be? Me baking quietly in the kitchen, you on the couch with the marking, the cat asleep on the chair? Soon, hopefully, this kind of tranquil Sunday will be a distant memory.
Here is what they tell you before the IVF Egg Retrieval. I will update this blog as soon as I’m not woozy and can make sense again. Wish us luck!
I woke up this morning after a night of sex dreams. My body, even subconsciously, is trying to get these eggs outta here. My ovaries are yelling, “get somebody in here to make a baby! Things are getting really out of control and very crowded.” (I said something way more vulgar, but it doesn’t bear repeating)
Weird. Now I’m sitting on the on the couch with ovaries that, according to the very nice nurse in Burlington, are usually walnut sized but are currently comparable to oranges. Fruit metaphors. How queer. My co-worker said stimulated follicles are the size of grapes.
But, good news, they are ready to be juiced. Picked? whatever the metaphor. Also, the nurse said my ovaries are nice and accessible, which should make retrieval pretty easy and expedient.
We did the ultrasound and it’s even better than yesterday, but they want to get bloodwork back to decide if I’ll take the Decapeptyl double shot tonight to trigger me, or tomorrow. If I take D it will have to be a frozen cycle, as there is a medication (Ovidrel) that is different if they are going to do a fresh transfer. So much I didn’t know before.
I got the call two hours later. Game time!
TO DO:
Take the Gonal F (150) now. No Luveris. Tonight at 9 pm precisely, take two of the Decapeptyl shots.
Go to the grocery store/pharmacy: get an enormous pizza with prosciutto, brie, arugula and figs. Pick up my presciption for Atavan (one for Sunday night, one for the morning of the procedure to help with anxiety). I am so relieved. Allia will be with me because I won’t be able to drive. And we were advised to bring an Ipod with nice music for us to listen to.
Call in to book off work and make lesson plans for Monday, probably Tuesday, too.
Go to the clinic Sunday morning for bloodwork only (make sure the trigger worked)
Don’t eat anything Sunday night. Take an Atavan.
Go in at 6:45 am for my appointment on Monday. At 6:30, take the other Atavan.
Wear socks. lol.
Win that game and get as many of my team off the bench and onto the court as I can. No benchwarmers needed.
I’ve been playing phone tag with the Clinic. Come in today, come in tomorrow, no come in Sunday, OK come in both.
Here is a recap of the past few days.
Thursday: Went into the clinic today. The follicles are developing really wonderfully; I have 10 that look really good. Nurse called and said that I need to go into the Burlington clinic on Saturday, and Dr. C looked at my chart and wants me to drop the Gonal F to 100. She is predicting it’s going to be a freeze-all cycle, because they’re worried about hyperstimulation. So, I might have to do a natural cycle after this one, so wait out November and try for December. Either way, I will come back in and sign consents for frozen transfers. They are going to drop the dose of Gonal, then I’ll go in on Saturday to keep monitoring. (So, started Gonal at 200, dropped to 150, then to 100 last minute on Friday).
Because with a freeze all we will have to skip November, we run into potential scheduling problems. They are closed Dec. 22 to Jan. 5 in Mississauga, while Burlington will be closed Dec. 25 and 26. A natural cycle is unpredictable, so we might miss December altogether.
Transfer Options – Natural or On Medication: If I do end up doing a natural cycle there will be an option to come into the clinic a few times for monitoring, but then we wait for me to ovulate. The risk is that the meds this month might make my cycle unpredictable and it will be hit or miss with the timing of my ovulation (harder to plan and harder to catch). However, if I do a medicated cycle I will have to keep taking the medication for 13 weeks, if I use it during the pregnancy. And bonus deet: the meds make your vagina bright blue. Smurf style.
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Friday: In to the clinic again. Last night the dose of Gonal F dropped to 100. Luveris still at 75. Took Cetrotide this morning. Three needles a day makes Alison a dull girl. Good thing it’s just me and not the needles. I need to remember to get a needle disposal unit!! We returned a full one and forgot to get another. We have an ever-growing brown paper bag of medical biohazard waste on the table.
Meds: We have 150 left of Gonal F and 1 Luveris at home. The tally for meds costs is on the agenda for this weekend. It’s in the thousands of $$$.
It was a Long appointment today, because there is a lot to look at.
Lots of follicles!
26 follicles, 16 over 14 mm. My lining is 18.2. They are almost sure that we will do a freeze-all. This makes me nervous, but I keep telling myself it’s for my own good.
I need to come back Sunday to give my body a chance to let the smaller ones catch up. I’m booked at Burlington on Saturday, but need to change it to Sunday.
What happens next? The trigger shot will happen, then we skip one day. What are we looking forward to? Right now: best results would be 18 (at most) frozen eggs, but often after losses in the post-fertilization stage, it drops off – so maybe 3-7.
Either way, more meds!!!
My running tally is going to be more than I spent on a semester at University.
Then I got the update: called during Period 5 class, to reschedule. I have to come in Saturday and Sunday. Take Cetrotide, but stop everything else after Friday night.
The doctor looked at my chart and wants to bring me in sooner. My estrogen is at 10,500 and it’s pushing the safe zone if all these follicles keep growing.
This thought was from a while ago, but I figured maybe a break from stats would be nice. My colleague asked me today if it was weird that there was some stranger’s junk inside me and I said, yeah, but I said the weirdest part was actually that it's the first time in 3 1/2 decades that there's been ever sperm inside me, because I was always so careful when I was with men. I've never had unprotected sex so just even the concept of there being sperm in there was like …you know, like some of jerking off in the Vatican.
Okay it’s not a perfect metaphor. But it felt like profaning a queer, very tidy, sacred place.
Yup. It’s a bad idea. Woke up at 5:45 this morning, super uncomfortable. It’s the first time that I’ve had distinct symptoms, other than just a general sense of bloat and fatigue. My ovaries ache.
But my follicles are awesome. My estrogen seems to be growing the smaller follicles, helping them catch up to the big ones, which has allowed them all to progress at a relatively even rate. My lining is nice and thick.
So I’m focusing on this.
Instead of the fact that my midsection is tender and puffy. Or that I have a field trip, with a cheque cut to pay the venue, and two kids’ spots I was holding, because they couldn’t afford to pay right away, just bailed five minutes before the trip started, leaving me with no money to pay for their spots except from my own pocket.
And these hormones are making me way more annoyed and way less patient than I would usually be. It’s true that when you are mad, sad, hurt, sick or stressed your coping skills are impaired.
I am mostly keeping it even keel but hope to just spend the weekend marking and relaxing in sweat pants. Newest projection is retrieval on Halloween. You’d better believe I will be wearing a costume.
I’m having the first of the big feels. At least for this round. I stayed in this weekend, while my wife went to hang with her siblings, our family. Tonight, after a full day of work, I came home and got my laptop out to keep marking. Already I’m feeling tired, but I’m supposed to drive in (on a Tuesday night, which normally would have been no problem) to meet friends, and Allia, at Lisa Marie for HipHop trivia and good food. I already know that I’ll be driving, and I am feeling tired from the meds, but want to not miss out on seeing our friends. I am feeling some real FOMO as Allia works in the city and sees people after work far more regularly.
I called to see if setting an expiry date for the evening is possible. Can we agree to leave by a certain time… so I can get home to do my shot (not having to do it in a car or restaurant bathroom, please), and the initial pause on the phone… makes me SO cranky.
I want to go out. I want to participate. I don’t want to be a drag.
But I also want to stay at home and dig away at the mountain of work that feels harder to get through because I’m sluggish and tired. And bloated. I don’t feel unwell, but I don’t feel good.
I don’t want to have to convince my partner to be in this trench with me, or feel like I need to persuade someone who feels fine to rein in their social time because I can’t participate as vigorously. We do lots on our own, but I don’t want to feel like I’m carrying, pun intended, the burden for two – while the other is out doing what I’d rather be doing.
It feels like the disparity between spouses who earn vastly different salaries – I imagine it’s how I’d feel if I had to scrimp and save, while my higher-salaried partner is out wining and dining. Or like someone who is dieting, watching their partner eat cake… or sitting at home while their wife Instagrams pics of the _______________ (whatever you wish you’d be doing, seeing, eating, too). It doesn’t feel partner-y. And usually I’d call bullshit. We are not connected at the hip. I could go if I want to. Or not go.
I just don’t want to feel like I’m the only one who has to feel housebound, not by choice. If I have to feel like I can’t do all the things I want to do, selfishly, I want company.
She handled my grouchy phone call like a champ. Placatingly assuring me that I’d be able to go home before I turned into a pumpkin. No questions… okay, few questions asked.
Anyone else ever feel like their hormones, or this whole process, creates imagined strain and moodiness as you prep for these big changes and as your regular life becomes irregular?
So, we did it. The video, to commemorate the whole process. Laughably rough and not at all our usual M.O. But who has time for a polished, beautifully-edited video of ‘How to use your injection meds,’ when they are actually taking injection meds? We were over at a friends’ house for dinner and, with respect for the doctor’s “take at the same time daily” instructions, we had to do the injections in her bathroom.
So, there are close-ups of my bloated stomach and us puttering through the details of the meds. Our instructions for the past few days: Keep going with Gonal F and Luveris. Start taking Cetrotide to halt ovulation. They may decrease Gonal F and Luveris when my tests come back. For now, they are keeping the same dose.
After the Sunday morning visit, they decided to lower my dose of Gonal to 150. My follicle count: 11, 11, 10, 10, on right. 11, 10, 10, 10 on left.
Rash from the Cetrotide.
At first they thought the retrieval may be Friday, but changed the estimate for my retrieval to a potential “Monday…Or early the following week.”
Went in this morning (Tuesday) for a checkup, I am still on the same doses of all three meds. We are eventually looking for follicles size 20+. My current is R: 14, 13, 13, 12, 11, 9 and L: 14, 14, 12, 11, 10, 9.
Yay! At 2mm per day they should be good to go. My lining is 13 mm. I can’t believe that all this ridiculous vocabulary seems to make sense now and has become part of my regular daily exchange.
I’m not really bothered by needles. Except, it seems, when sticking them into myself.
After the negative on Friday’s pregnancy result (a week ago), the nurse said to expect my period around Monday. It arrived Saturday, like everything – seemingly sped up by all these hormones. So, back to the clinic on Tuesday for bloodwork and ultrasound. I have had wicked cramps. Thank god I can have epsom salt baths right now.
After the ultrasound and trans-vaginal ultrasound. We are officially starting our first round of IVF. We have been on the wait list almost 10 months. Allia and I are back to back on the list, but opted to stagger the dates when we come up as eligible. That’s one perk of being queer. We may not have a sperm or penis, but we sure can sign up twice for government subsidized IVF.
After the tests, Nurse N. sat us down to explain the barrage of medication that I’ll be on.
1) Gonal F. 200 is the dose. While they want to avoid hyperstimulation, they want to maximize egg production. When Allia was on this two years ago she had such awful symptoms on just 75 that we had to take her to the hospital. So far, spoiler, I’ve been on it at that dose for 4 days and have no symptoms except bloating (and being grossed out by sticking sharp objects into my stomach). We were told initially that we would come back on Friday at 7 am to maybe drop the dose, and again on the 23 to check in.
How do you do this pre-loaded injection? You click the numbers to the dose (for me, 200). You pull off the cap, after swabbing the area with an alcohol wipe. Pull up a nice bit of belly. Inject. Watch the box for the 200 to drop to 0. This was pretty straight forward. Except that on the first attempt I froze after the first part, sticking it in and had to ask Al to push the plunger. I just held the needle. Advice was: Keep it in the fridge until you’re ready for your first dose. Inject at same time each night.
2) Luveris. 75 IU was the second drug. The combination is supposed to keep both parts of the hormones in balance that will cause my ovaries to overproduce eggs and follicles to get all excited. It came with more parts than a Playmobil pirate ship. The alcohol wipes. The big syringe tip with angled tip (DO NOT PUT THAT IN YOUR BODY). Small syringe tip. The syringe itself. Two small vials: one with saline, one with powder. Process: We messed this up the first time, taking off and on various parts of the tips at the wrong times and struggling to suck up all the liquid. I was feeling nervous, literally with the thought – maybe this baby stuff is just a really bad idea – running through my head (none of which I said out loud). So, first: open all your stuff. Swab the area. Take the big tip and attach it to the syringe. Open your vial caps. Use the big needle to draw out the saline. With that same tip inject the saline into the powder and let it mix. Advice was: Do not shake it. You don’t want air bubbles.
Next: DON’T take that big tip off (we did and then freaked ourselves out trying to swap exposed needles off of the syringe). Use the same big needle to draw the mixed liquid up into the syringe. We are thinking, now that we are way more comfortable with this, that we should make a video. Honestly, seeing someone do it would have been SO much easier than remembering details from the nurse and comparing them to the notes I took on my phone and following written instructions.
With the big needle on the syringe and liquid in there (tip the vial upside down and withdraw the needle as you are pulling the plunger so that you can get to the very bottom) keep a good grip on the plunger so it doesn’t squirt back out. Recap the big needle (ours has a sideways guard that swings up over the tip).
Now swap to the smaller needle, the one that looks like it won’t hurt like a _____ when you put it into your stomach (stomach is recommended as the legs have nerves you can accidentally hit). With the small tip, put the syringe tip up and let the air come out; let a few little drops come out the top of the needle to check. Prep your area, holding it in your thumb and finger. Inject and slowly squirt it out. We were told it might sting or burn. (again: Don’t use the big needle!!) Hold it there for a moment. Slowly pull the needle out and I liked to put an alcohol swap back on the area and press it; this was following the first time when blood started oozing back out of me. This, I’ve heard, isn’t uncommon.
Night 1: 9:30 pm first dual injection of Gonal F is closest to belly button. Then we spilled part of Luveris in extraction from the vial. My belly bled from shot 2 the first time. But now, aside from a few bruises we are doing way better. Note: these are pyjamas, not a rockin’ satin matchy-matchy outfit that I wear outside the house.
So: for now, two injections. I inject same time each night, alternating sides (first day right side, next left. I was told I might get a third shot by the end of the week, Cetrotide, to hold off release of the eggs. The goal is to stimulate for a week. Harvest end of next week. I’ll do my retrieval in Burlington. Ideally, then they will tell us how eggs were harvested. We are hoping: many. Then we will get daily updates after they are ‘in-vitro’d’ telling us how many are surviving. What we want is the count of viable day 5 embryo.The projected time for harvest is the day of retrieval plus five. Apparently for the procedure I will be sedated. Allia there to be my voice; she will be able to tell, better than a doctor who doesn’t know me, how I’m doing.
All in all, it has been smooth sailing. On Friday we went back in to talk about the third injection; they still haven’t told me if I will need it.
But I have three boxes of it; same injection format as the second drug – all evil scientist style. At least we are getting accustomed to it. Next step, is to go in on Sunday to check my estrogen levels to see if I need to take Cetrotide and keep stimming until late next week. Other good news: I have 8 follicles all going strong and equally so. This is great; while 3 was a hazard in the IUI world (see past entries), they are looking for good numbers and high counts here (as long as it doesn’t get too high) because that means potentially higher successful eggs to harvest. Having them all progress equally means that they won’t risk having to leave some good, but slower, candidates behind if other follicles are ready faster.
Sunday I will know what to do next: email the nurse with the count of follicles and wait to hear the estrogen level so we know when to take Cetrotide. (And maybe none of this is useful to anyone but me, but I really wish that I’d known how long, what, where, how and wtf was going on, so if it helps anyone, and keeps me on track with the things we are supposed to do, then… yay).
My time on the waitlist is over. I’m starting IVF prep today. I literally feel like I just had my period. I used to have 45 day cycles, now, with a negative pregnancy test on Friday, my period came so promptly on Saturday, and today, Monday, I’m back in the game.
I am not psyched about the takeout container sized plastic bag of needles and bottles and vials that I had to bring home. But, we are heading into this with a positive attitude.
Wish us luck. I’ll try to document as much as I can stomach of the syringes into the stomach, and attending hormones, etc. Allia had a very adverse reaction to Gonal F, so we are a bit wary.
It occurred to me when they told me to come back for my blood test on Friday the 13th that it might be a problematic date. That’s silly, was my next thought.
I’m not superstitious, but I get hunches, feelings. I didn’t feel pregnant, but who knows if I would have?
I went in to the clinic yesterday morning, dressed to go straight to work for a fieldtrip: a day at the theatre, on a bus with 45 students. I was ready for whatever needed to happen, to have a smile plastered on my face all day, while I watched Dracula in the afternoon, and Dancing at Lughnasa, in the evening. Or, conversely, to pull it together if the news was bad.
My weapon of choice was a bold patterned dress, my costume, in case the world went awry. I thought it was ready for anything, but documented the moment with fingers crossed.
For luck and hope.
There’s a part of me, it seems, that wants to bear witness to each step of this, wants a photo to say ‘that was the moment when.’ While so many others get to have stories of vacation-made babies, New Year’s kisses that turn into conception, nights of popped-corks that lead to plans for a future arrival; I want to document, in writing and images, maybe so that on the other side, no matter what happens, I will have a step-by-step guide of how to get through it all.
I was sitting on that bus, in a metal echo chamber full of 45 teenage bodies in various states of caffeination and hormonal giddiness, when I got the call from the nurse. She didn’t mince words, or keep me in suspense, but, calmly told me “you’re not pregnant.”
Okay. I’m okay. It’s not like you can’t be when you’re chaperoning this bunch.
She went on to explain that IVF is the next step for us, our number on the wait list is up, and that I should call on the first day of my next period.
I’ve been told that this is good news, even as my mind races towards worry at the huge, unpredictable price tag, unfixed because it could be ‘just’ a few thousand, or it could be 15 – $20,000. Still, I think to myself: “maybe this is good timing. The chances are so much higher of getting pregnant with IVF.” (but not guaranteed part of my brain chirps)
My mind is telling me, don’t be discouraged, so many people go through this, it’s only, technically, your second try with IUI. But it feels like this is the thousandth. We’ve been trying, together, for 3 1/2 years. And watching your partner go through it isn’t the same, it’s different, but it feels a bit like watching the trailer for a horror movie. Or a period Drama.. . Pun intended.
What does any of it mean? Is there meaning in it at all? When you look? I could hardly sleep last night. When I got the blood taken that morning, I felt anxious, but excited. I was tripping over my own tongue. Choosing a mild mania over stoic skepticism. But in my hopefulness I had trouble doing normal things, like choosing the right door to push as I exited the building, pressing instead for a moment on the door which, though unlabelled, hasn’t been the one that opens for all the months I’ve been coming to this clinic.
I also forgot to push down on my vein, to stem the bleeding after the blood was drawn. But I only noticed – when I felt my inner elbow, the fabric of my dress wet with blood – that I hadn’t remembered that part. That this can all be so messy. Was that my warning sign? Or is none of it a ‘sign’ at all? It feels worse if it’s all just random.
Peeling my sleeve away, there was a still-bleeding hole.
Does any of that mean anything? I think I need it to mean something because if it doesn’t mean anything, what the fuck?
I could’ve just written one sentence today that said: not pregnant. But maybe I need to pour these feelings out, believe them onto the paper, bleed them. Catharsis. So that I know they actually happened. To examine them, so I might actually learn something. Because if there isn’t a purpose to these feelings, then what’s the point when it feels this bad?
And it’s worse because I’m alone. Home so late last night to an empty house for the next three days while my wife stays at her sister’s, taking care of our nieces. She is surrounded by children and I’m feeling both relieved to just be by myself, and sorry for myself all the same.
If Dracula can be a metaphor for me in this moment – it explains the sense of hyperawareness, a need to make meaning from death, or the absence of life, and to see its potential for beauty. Last night, I was surrounded by people, but isolated in my own secret – watching the vitality and pulse of youth – a current that, unaware of itself, sustains me. Not parasitically, but in the sense that being surrounded by the energy of young people keeps me from feeling sluggish. I feel like I’m twenty, but also like I’m 80; eons away from the urgency of teenage tears and laughter and drama. Teaching them reminds me constantly of what it was like to be their age and, by extension, how far I’ve come, all the things I’ve gone through and learned from. I was a Smart-Alek then; and I’m wise beyond my years now. I get to watch that learning curve happen in front of my eyes, over and over again, with each new year.
Honestly, I get through my days by living on the incredible gift of working with young people who are vital, and funny, silly, hilarious, sometimes infuriating and oblivious, living in the moment; these kids who can be the sweetest humans, especially in the times when they are caring and effusive – so that somehow, at a quarter to midnight, after seeing the second show of the day, when you are on a school bus full of tired bodies and they ask you questions, when instead they could be talking to their peers, no longer in a classroom, not beholden to ‘pay attention,’ but wanting to talk un-self-consciously, it’s impossible not to feel hopeful. They make me feel like a celebrity, or motivational speaker. Or a parent. They aren’t mine. Except for a little while.
Fragility and strength in the same crush of life; isolation that can be felt when the truth of yourself is felt deeply by you, while others only see the face you put on. I’m happy, because I know I must be grateful. But I’m sad, unrelentingly. A slow, dull ache.
Dracula. Dancing. Living. The Stage. Reality. Long days and nights.
Repressing the feelings that are there can be deadly; expressing them can be deadly too, apparently, but I embrace feeling if the alternative is feeling nothing.
asquaredmamasquared 