One thing I've learned about myself through this journey is that I have a really hard time lying around and relaxing. I often advise my husband to "just relax" and "just be." But, apparently I'm giving unwarranted advice that I need to take myself.
I love to be nonstop. The busier I am, the better I feel. Chaos is where I thrive. Unfortunately, when you're going through infertility treatments, less is more. Whether you're preparing to get started or you're smack dab in the middle of a cycle, you just have to slow it down.
I'll write a post about how hard it was for me to give up on high intensity workouts and a packed work/social schedule for restorative yoga and meditation. I'm still a crazy, high energy person who cheats on the "zen" way of life more often than I practice it, but it's helped beyond measure.
That being said, I went in for my egg retrieval at 6 am this morning. I came home and slept for a few hours and now I can't sit still. The nurses told me to rest and not do anything physical today, but they didn't mention exercising my mind. So here I am, releasing my anxiety on this keyboard.
The last blog I posted was on day seven of the hormones and shit was hitting the fan. Well I ended up stimming for 10 days. The rage I was feeling subsided a bit (probably from exhaustion), but the tears, oh the tears did not stop. I've been crying over anything and everything.
Here's some friendly advice, since I'm so good at dishing it out; Do NOT under any circumstance watch a fucking Nicholas Sparks moving while injecting fertility hormones. Actually come to think of it, do not watch one unless you are 100% emotionally stable and just need a good cry. I watched "The Choice" on Sunday and almost threw up from crying so hard. Such a rookie mistake.
When I went in for a blood test and ultrasound on Sunday, my day 10, I was nervous. Through out this cycle my left ovary had moved behind my uterus. This means there'd be a chance that the doctor wouldn't be able access that ovary and we'd have to rely on the follicles on my right ovary only. Luckily the ultrasound showed that it moved back to where it was supposed to be. It also showed that both of my ovaries were just about the same size as my uterus. No wonder I couldn't get jeans zipped or walk up the steps without losing my breath. Validation is a beautiful thing.
They called with my results and instructions that afternoon. I was to stop all stimulating hormones. HALLELUJAH! Time to get this show on the road. That night Michael gave me a trigger shot of Ovidrel at 8pm.
Ovidrel is a pre-filled syringe of the hormone hCg which triggers your body to ovulate approximately 36 hours after injection. We did this every time we did IUI and for my previous egg retrieval. It just helps with timing.
So I went for my retrieval at 6 am this morning. I walked into the office and was greeted with friendly faces that took me back to the recovery room where they'd prepare me for anesthesia.
I'm honestly at Magee so often that it's like the show Cheers, "Where everybody knows your name." I don't think there's one person who works there I haven't met. And I LOVE them. They're like the ultimate hype men for procedures. Everyone's rooting for you and they make sure to let you know.
The anesthesiologist, a woman in her 70s with HUGE black glasses and an even bigger personality, hooked up my iv, scolded me for my sleeve of tattoos, and went about her business. And then we waited. About 30 minutes later a nurse came to get me to empty my bladder and go into the operating room.
For anyone who doesn't know what an egg retrieval is, I'll sum it up quickly. An egg retrieval is a procedure where a needle is passed through the vagina under ultrasound guidance to get to the follicles in the ovaries. The fluid in the follicles is aspirated by the needle and the egg is detached from the follicle wall and sucked out. Sexy, I know.
Before the procedure, Michael went and made love to himself in a room covered in plastic with a dvd player and some old magazines. They the did a "wash" and picked out the best sperm to inject into the eggs they get from retrieval.
I woke up to Michael telling me that the doctor got 13 eggs. Not too shabby. I had 22 last time, but only three fertilized, so I'll take a new number.
Actually to be completely honest, I woke up to Michael telling me that the first thing I said when coming out of anesthesia was "I dreamt about Justin Bieber. I statutory raped him." I said this to him, the anesthesiologist, and the nurses.
When I woke up from the last retrieval I told everyone I was stripping on a bar with the cast of Shameless. What does any of this mean? I'm weird and horny under anesthesia and apparently I have a thing for prepubescent Bieber.
The nurse showed Michael how to draw and administer the progesterone and oil injections. These will go in my bum every night until my pregnancy test, and if I'm pregnant through my first trimester. Nothing like standing there, ass out, hearing "Ok so you want to shoot it like a dart to make sure it goes into the muscle."
The next step is to call the embryologist tomorrow morning after 10:00 am to find out how many embryos we have. She'll then be able to tell us if we'll be doing a day three or day five transfer.
So now, I wait. I wait on those 13. I guess it's time to take my own advice and try to relax. Netflix and chill? If chill means obsesses and worry about things that are completely out of my control, while trying everything in my power to refrain from googling every cramp or feeling of discomfort I'm experiencing, then Netflix and chill it is.