Y’all, my body hurts. HURTS. They are not playing when they say “you may return to work 24 hours after retrieval.”
Except that I returned to work 2 hours after retrieval, which is almost the same thing. I couldn’t stand the idea of missing Meet the Teacher … especially if for some Godawful reason our embryos suck and we have to do a 3-day transfer. ‘Cause a 3-day transfer would be Monday, THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. Deep breaths; I cannot even worry about that right now.
Retrieval wasn’t quite as smooth this time. The nurse anesthetist this time was really nasty and couldn’t apparently get over my weight. She diagnosed both DH and I with sleep apnea while we were chatting. Wait, seriously? I get why you’d be worried about the possibility of sleep apnea in the person you’re about to put to sleep, but you can lay off the person you’re NOT treating. Seriously WTF. I think her judgmental attitude just set me up to feel extra anxious.
In any case, when I woke up, I HURT. There was no giggly chattiness like last time; it was just ow ow ow ow to the nth power. I started to get scared that it wouldn’t be better in time to go back to school, but thanks to my new bestie Toradol, the pain did subside enough for me to get back.
We got 18 eggs (yay!). No idea how many mature. The bad news was that DH’s sample was so bad that they asked him to produce a second time as they couldn’t even find enough live ones for ICSI (in this case, just the 18 – eeek.) After the second sample (way to get after it, baby!), they let us leave, saying they could find some swimmers this time. Worst case scenario, he has a frozen sample there they could thaw and use. Praying for a good fert report.
I made it through Meet the Teacher in an appropriately charming manner, fell asleep as DH was driving us home, and then slept on the couch ’til almost 6, and it’s going to be an early bedtime tonight.
You have no idea how badly I wish I didn’t have to go into my classroom this weekend …
I am so proud of myself. I didn’t cry, even though I was so very scared and wanted to. The IV sucked (it went in my usual spot where they draw blood; there’s basically like a little target scar there now!). The nurse anesthetist was so loving and warm and sweet. I don’t even remember falling asleep. And now that I think about it, I don’t remember waking up, really, either. Heh. Weird.
Weird things I did in recovery after anesthesia wore off:
– texted a bunch of people; do not remember doing this
– told the nurse anesthetist that DH brought his own porn, since our clinic’s DVD player is broken and the 2 mags they had last time were “Crazy Anal Sluts” and “Barely 18 – our FLATTEST issue ever!” in which all the girls had pigtails and braces. Thank GOD I did not elaborate on what the offerings were, just that they weren’t up to par, and apparently I asked her if she thought people stole the magazines. oh my God.
– took a selfie of myself with hairnet and hospital gown and posted it to one of my private fb groups (why?)
Now, for the news: They retrieved 12 eggs! I cannot WAIT to hear how many fertilized tomorrow. I am praying so hard. I asked if 12 was good and she said it was “about average.”
I HURT. Waiting for DH to come home w/my Tylenol w/codeine script, and then I’m going to lay down and maybe watch Friends DVDs.
One hurdle down. Next: Fertilization report. Please let it be good.
Hey. It’s retrieval day. We’re coming to get you guys. Are you feeling mature? Have you stopped backstabbing your friends, passing notes in class, laughing at fart jokes? Be mature. You’re better than that. And be big, healthy, juicy eggs. Remember the eggs that made M and R? Those were awesome eggs. Be like them. I know I was only 26 then, but my mom popped out a good egg that became my brother when she was 36! You guys know my mom. We were all inside her.
God, that’s weird to think about. Carry on.
Anyway, I want you to be big, healthy eggs. And when the nice embryologist introduces you to the sperm, don’t be shy. Meet up. Exchange exactly the right numbers of genetic information. If you can’t remember what you’re supposed to do, maybe make a to-do list. You’ve got a couple hours. Then just start dividing evenly and healthfully.
My lining is really plush, like 11 mm. A 7-8 mm lining is like a 200-thread-count sheet, so 11 must be super posh. It’s a delightful place to burrow in and develop for 9ish months, really.
You’d have two big brothers who are hilarious and smart and who LOVE babies. You’d have an awesome dad. And me? I’m no award-winning mom, but our house is always full of laughter.
Come on, you can do it. See you this afternoon.