I’m at a ‘cusp of something’ moment: I did my trigger shot last night and the retrieval is tomorrow. More bloated/uncomfortable than previous cycles and doc’s a tad concerned about Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS), but I’m hoping that its close enough to the border for it to be a non-event.
I am currently giving the girls their final lectures on the extremely naughty behaviour expected on their upcoming first dates with Daddy’s Bad Boys: “Straight for the home run. Show that you’re having a good time to keep the sparks flying! And save the small talk for later!”
Basically, I’m hoping they turn every trick they know to go forth … and multiply (on a cellular level)!
Truth be told, I always find this part of IVF a bit harder than the two-week wait (TWW – when you’re waiting to take a pregnancy test).
The TWW is an interlude (even if it can often be one with a very sad ending). For the most part, you cannot actually tell if you’re pregnant or not, or if you’re getting more pregnant or less pregnant as you go (early symptoms be damned). You. Just. Wait. Often, you find SOMETHING to distract you, at least for the moments you aren’t prematurely peeing on things. You symptom spot, Google random things constantly (“is cream cheese soft?” “Steak/miso soup/cheesecake/chocolate/green tea/hot showers/tennis AND ivf/pregnancy/tww).
You join chat groups, think of baby names, climb walls, eat Brazil nuts and avocado. In between, you sometimes earn a living. But you can hold on to the fact that you’re PUPO: Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise.
The retrieval and the five days that follow, though, are a strange kind of no-man’s land. You’re as barren as you began and you don’t actually ever exhale. How many eggs? How many mature? Did the boom-boom in the glass room go as planned?
The retrieval and the five days that follow though… they are a strange kind of no-man’s land. You’re as barren as you began and you don’t actually ever exhale. How many eggs? How many mature? Did the boom-boom in the glass room go as planned?
And as an essential part of you sits in someone’s Petri dish, you stare at the phone, willing it to ring – and only with good news. It’s an INSANE amount of pressure with very few distractions. I’m guessing I’ll be too on edge to write anything of substance. We’ve lost a tremendous number of eggs/embryos along the way in each of our cycles, so I’m constantly bracing myself for the worst.
But that’s not to say I’m not trying to stay as positive as a bluebird on LSD, holding out crazy amounts of hope for my miracle embabies. I’m sitting in my acupuncturist’s clinic right now waiting to see how she wants to up the girls’ pre-fertilisation game (there will, however, be no cupping, I assure).
Everything is firmly crossed.
T minus 16 hours to showtime.