All our fertilised eggs have started to divide and most are 4 cells this morning (which is exactly where they should be). We need them to be 8 cells before one is picked for replacement. They may get there overnight, so we'll wait and see, otherwise we're looking at Saturday for embryo replacement.
We also have a late starter! One of the eggs that looked like it hadn't fertilised has started to divide overnight!! So it looks like we could have an extra one to add to the pool.
Clever little embryos.
It's a bit of a worry though that our children are showing signs of being unco-ordinated this early.
Wednesday 30 April 2008
Tuesday 29 April 2008
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 ...11!
11 normally fertilised eggs this morning.
I'm a little at war with the fact that whilst this is good news, I had to get out of bed to get it.
It's less than 70%, yes, and I would have loved all 18 to fertilise, I'm reminding myself that we had a hell of a haul yesterday, so it only makes sense that some of those eggs weren't viable (remember the fruit tree thing), and since 8/9 is a normal retrieval rate, we're streaks ahead.
Hopefully a good number will survive the next 48-72 hours.
I've asked the hospital to ring me tomorrow and tell me how the little blobs are going at dividing themselves.
And now, back to the couch. I feel like crap and I hurt a lot more than I thought I would, but then yesterday was a very big day.
I'm a little at war with the fact that whilst this is good news, I had to get out of bed to get it.
It's less than 70%, yes, and I would have loved all 18 to fertilise, I'm reminding myself that we had a hell of a haul yesterday, so it only makes sense that some of those eggs weren't viable (remember the fruit tree thing), and since 8/9 is a normal retrieval rate, we're streaks ahead.
Hopefully a good number will survive the next 48-72 hours.
I've asked the hospital to ring me tomorrow and tell me how the little blobs are going at dividing themselves.
And now, back to the couch. I feel like crap and I hurt a lot more than I thought I would, but then yesterday was a very big day.
Monday 28 April 2008
Yo ho ho and a bottle of ... HOW many eggs did you say?
They retrieved 18 eggs this morning. 18!! Above and beyond expectation, and apparently they all came quite easily too. It didn't feel that 'easily' to me - that needle hurts as much as it looks like it does - but I'll take their word for it.
I was very clever and got the nurses on side by baking them some brownies yesterday morning. It never hurts to make sure that the people who are in charge of the drugs are feeling well disposed towards you, that's for sure. As it was, it was a bit of light hearted relief to arrive in theatre to find 2 out of 4 people chewing!
The hospital will let me know tomorrow morning how many eggs have fertilised, and everyone is expecting to go ahead with embryo replacement this week. We'll either replace Thursday if there is a particular embryo standing out as being a goodie, or else, if there are lots of embryos looking much the same, they'll wait till Saturday to see if a stand-out one develops. I won't know until Thursday morning though, what they're opting to do.
In the meantime I'm on bed rest for 2 days, and I can offically report that at this stage, I'm being very well behaved. I just woke up, and considering I got home from the hospital at just after lunch, that's none too bad.
So, the worst is well over, and although it hurts a truckload more than I thought it would, that's what the bed rest is for.
Now we cross everything that our little embryos grow well over the next few days, and that we get a good fertilisation rate. Normal is about 70% from memory.
I was very clever and got the nurses on side by baking them some brownies yesterday morning. It never hurts to make sure that the people who are in charge of the drugs are feeling well disposed towards you, that's for sure. As it was, it was a bit of light hearted relief to arrive in theatre to find 2 out of 4 people chewing!
The hospital will let me know tomorrow morning how many eggs have fertilised, and everyone is expecting to go ahead with embryo replacement this week. We'll either replace Thursday if there is a particular embryo standing out as being a goodie, or else, if there are lots of embryos looking much the same, they'll wait till Saturday to see if a stand-out one develops. I won't know until Thursday morning though, what they're opting to do.
In the meantime I'm on bed rest for 2 days, and I can offically report that at this stage, I'm being very well behaved. I just woke up, and considering I got home from the hospital at just after lunch, that's none too bad.
So, the worst is well over, and although it hurts a truckload more than I thought it would, that's what the bed rest is for.
Now we cross everything that our little embryos grow well over the next few days, and that we get a good fertilisation rate. Normal is about 70% from memory.
Sunday 27 April 2008
Needle Mountain
Weirdest place I shot up - my beauty therapist's rooms.
Them there little thimble looking things are needles too. In case you wondered.
Them there little thimble looking things are needles too. In case you wondered.
Saturday 26 April 2008
P.S.
I have been given instructions to take 2 panadol 1 hour before egg collection.
I sincerely hope they don't think that that is the sum total of pain relief they'll be giving me for this.
I'm guessing not, considering the extent of the harvest, and I'm hoping not because there should seriously be at least one fun injection in all of this! (although I don't know if that's a particularly good reason to present)
Definitely over and out now.
I sincerely hope they don't think that that is the sum total of pain relief they'll be giving me for this.
I'm guessing not, considering the extent of the harvest, and I'm hoping not because there should seriously be at least one fun injection in all of this! (although I don't know if that's a particularly good reason to present)
Definitely over and out now.
Egg collection - 9am Monday
Last injection - 9pm tonight!! Weeeeeee!!! (Word from the now wise - despite all assurances to the contrary you do not get used to needles)
Egg collection was/is my biggest fear in this whole business - especially now that there are so many follicles - so it's kind of good that I feel like complete crud ... I'll just be happy to be rid of all the wee eggies at this point. I can't sit, stand, lie down or walk for very long at all, although lying down seems more comfortable than anything. Sitting is definitely all bad so I'm actually mightily relieved (sorry LP and J!) that I won't be back at work until this is over.
And on that note - my warm spot on the couch is getting cold. Over and out!
Egg collection was/is my biggest fear in this whole business - especially now that there are so many follicles - so it's kind of good that I feel like complete crud ... I'll just be happy to be rid of all the wee eggies at this point. I can't sit, stand, lie down or walk for very long at all, although lying down seems more comfortable than anything. Sitting is definitely all bad so I'm actually mightily relieved (sorry LP and J!) that I won't be back at work until this is over.
And on that note - my warm spot on the couch is getting cold. Over and out!
Clever ovaries! I think.
It was quite a bizarre thing arriving at the hospital this morning - no cars in the car park, no patients scattered around outside, the cafe closed, the hospital closed for that matter, more or less, the doors firmly shut and having to be let in by security and have my name ticked off. It felt kinda cool.
The hope on Wednesday after the last scan was that a good number of the great pile of follicles I had would fail to develop and we'd be left with a nice, reasonable amount which would produce lovely eggies out of most of them and the cycle would be straight forward from there.
Ha! Ha ha! But I do mean that in a good way.
This morning's scan showed that in actual fact the reason I feel like I'm going to pop any second is pretty much because I am. Far from failing to develop, the vast majority of follicles have continued to grow and all indications point to there being eggs in most of them. As in, I totally rule at spitting out eggs! For now, anyway. Never mind that I can't stand, sit, lie down, move to very long in any direction, and I look like I'm about 4 months pregnant.
I'll know later on today, but at this point egg collection could well be Monday (eeek!).
Still, clever though my ovaries are, the little bastards have put me at extremely high risk for full blown Ovarian Hyper-stimulation Syndrome which is not so good. So, still clever, but it's a double-edged sword. The good thing about it is that we know it's possibly coming and we can try to minimise complications. If I'd kicked out the standard 8-10 eggs, we'd have been blissfully ignorant until symptoms developed and the possible-pregnancy as well as my own health was at serious risk.
So, what to do?
We'll do egg collection, and at this point we could conceivably (tee hee) end up with around 20ish eggs/ 20ish embryos (it's expected around 70% of the number of eggs will be the number of embryos). Quite an impressive result by anyone's standards (and believe me, they appear to think I'm a complete freak at the hospital as well) - and even more cheerful from the perspective that with that many embryos I may never have to do another fresh IVF cycle as long as I live. But, we won't get ahead of ourselves. Best not to count our follicles until they hatch and all that, and let's face it, it's not exactly been an uneventful IVF cycle over here, and things have certainly not gone according to plan.
Once they've collected all the eggs, they may do something called a "freeze-all" - as in, they won't put any embryo back at all (this was news to me, but actually seems like quite a good idea i the context of the situation). Yet. They will wait for my body to do it's hyper-stimulated thing and settle down properly (a couple to 3 months or so) and then they'll put an embryo back. The good thing about that is that the chance of successful pregnancy is actually higher, would you believe?
So, again we're waiting for a phone call, except this time, we're feeling good.
The hope on Wednesday after the last scan was that a good number of the great pile of follicles I had would fail to develop and we'd be left with a nice, reasonable amount which would produce lovely eggies out of most of them and the cycle would be straight forward from there.
Ha! Ha ha! But I do mean that in a good way.
This morning's scan showed that in actual fact the reason I feel like I'm going to pop any second is pretty much because I am. Far from failing to develop, the vast majority of follicles have continued to grow and all indications point to there being eggs in most of them. As in, I totally rule at spitting out eggs! For now, anyway. Never mind that I can't stand, sit, lie down, move to very long in any direction, and I look like I'm about 4 months pregnant.
I'll know later on today, but at this point egg collection could well be Monday (eeek!).
Still, clever though my ovaries are, the little bastards have put me at extremely high risk for full blown Ovarian Hyper-stimulation Syndrome which is not so good. So, still clever, but it's a double-edged sword. The good thing about it is that we know it's possibly coming and we can try to minimise complications. If I'd kicked out the standard 8-10 eggs, we'd have been blissfully ignorant until symptoms developed and the possible-pregnancy as well as my own health was at serious risk.
So, what to do?
We'll do egg collection, and at this point we could conceivably (tee hee) end up with around 20ish eggs/ 20ish embryos (it's expected around 70% of the number of eggs will be the number of embryos). Quite an impressive result by anyone's standards (and believe me, they appear to think I'm a complete freak at the hospital as well) - and even more cheerful from the perspective that with that many embryos I may never have to do another fresh IVF cycle as long as I live. But, we won't get ahead of ourselves. Best not to count our follicles until they hatch and all that, and let's face it, it's not exactly been an uneventful IVF cycle over here, and things have certainly not gone according to plan.
Once they've collected all the eggs, they may do something called a "freeze-all" - as in, they won't put any embryo back at all (this was news to me, but actually seems like quite a good idea i the context of the situation). Yet. They will wait for my body to do it's hyper-stimulated thing and settle down properly (a couple to 3 months or so) and then they'll put an embryo back. The good thing about that is that the chance of successful pregnancy is actually higher, would you believe?
So, again we're waiting for a phone call, except this time, we're feeling good.
Wednesday 23 April 2008
The minister's cat is a lucky cat
Today has been spent mostly in the company of a quiet but bone-deep fear, and seemingly certain knowledge that my IVF cycle was going to be cancelled.
It started well with the (9am) scan showing a good number of well-sized follicles on my right ovary which were all measured and the measurements noted down, and the lining of my uterus is really good, which is what we want for embryo replacement - a lovely homey environment for the little embryo to burrow into and hold on tight. The nurse was smiling at me and telling me that my scan was "what we call the perfect picture" and I was thanking every saint under the sun for this bit going smoothly. A perfect picture indeed.
Then they turned their attention to the left ovary, and it really wasn't necessary for the nurse to say "I spoke too soon when I said it was a perfect picture". I could see it myself. A black mass of follicles. Lots and lots of them.
So, not the 8/9 follicles I was hoping for, but rather closer to 30. ARGH! More than 20 of those on the left ovary. Not good. Not even close to good. At that moment, I was standing at the South Pole (with very sore, disobedient ovaries) waving at good who was kicking back with a beer at the North Pole.
I know. You'd think that lots of follicles should be a good thing, but I'm afraid it's not. It's the same sort of theory as a fruit tree - too many fruit and none of them grow properly because they're all trying to grow off the same pool of nutrients, thus meaning that said nutrients are spread way too thin. It's better to have a smaller number of good fruit than a wheel-barrow full of inedible ones. Hyper-stimulation is a big risk of IVF, increased if you're a younger woman which, in the world of IVF, I am, and it's unpleasant - extremely painful with nasty symptoms and side effects and dangerous to boot. Plus, it can result in the cancellation of the cycle. It's harsh, yes, if you're on the receiving end of a cancelled cycle ... but you can't make babies if your ovaries explode either, so thems the breaks. I'm not entirely sure if you can live if your ovaries explode actually. Huh. Better to stop and give it another go later.
Anyway, obviously, with the correct amount of freaking-outedness, and armed with a warning that this could be the proverbial nail in the coffin of this cycle, off I went for bloods to check ... something (they did tell me what but I was too busy mentally repeating shit, shit, shit, shit, shit and having a panic attack to clock what it was) ... and the results of that would confirm whether it was game over. Blood results are due in at 2pm. Sooo, that's about 5 hours of a having a really bad headache from trying to convince yourself that it would be ok if this was the end. I didn't even feel better about the possibility of no more injections oddly. Or comfort shopping. We'll blame the hormones for that one though. I can't imagine any other reason for it.
But, the results came back that my estrogen levels were within normal range and the decision had been made by the powers that be that we would continue, even though I have follicles coming out of my ears. Don't ask me how that works. All I know is that it's not over and I have scraped through this milestone by the skin of my teeth.
So, I have another scan to check progress (the hope is that some ... presumably a lot ... of the follicles will fail to develop, leaving me where I would much prefer to be - with my 'perfect picture') on Saturday morning, as well as another blood test to make sure that my whatever is still within normal range. Did I mention that the scan is at 8am?? 8am!! On a Saturday morning!! When I expressed this sentiment to the nurse with rather high-pitched horror, she laughed and responded with a well, we'll be here. I repeated this to the husband with some disgust, and he passed the observation that they will probably have been there all night, so it's not the same as having to get up at 8am. He's such a good husband patting me in the head like that. I'm all about the sympathy at moments such as these.
So, we live to inject another day. Just.
It started well with the (9am) scan showing a good number of well-sized follicles on my right ovary which were all measured and the measurements noted down, and the lining of my uterus is really good, which is what we want for embryo replacement - a lovely homey environment for the little embryo to burrow into and hold on tight. The nurse was smiling at me and telling me that my scan was "what we call the perfect picture" and I was thanking every saint under the sun for this bit going smoothly. A perfect picture indeed.
Then they turned their attention to the left ovary, and it really wasn't necessary for the nurse to say "I spoke too soon when I said it was a perfect picture". I could see it myself. A black mass of follicles. Lots and lots of them.
So, not the 8/9 follicles I was hoping for, but rather closer to 30. ARGH! More than 20 of those on the left ovary. Not good. Not even close to good. At that moment, I was standing at the South Pole (with very sore, disobedient ovaries) waving at good who was kicking back with a beer at the North Pole.
I know. You'd think that lots of follicles should be a good thing, but I'm afraid it's not. It's the same sort of theory as a fruit tree - too many fruit and none of them grow properly because they're all trying to grow off the same pool of nutrients, thus meaning that said nutrients are spread way too thin. It's better to have a smaller number of good fruit than a wheel-barrow full of inedible ones. Hyper-stimulation is a big risk of IVF, increased if you're a younger woman which, in the world of IVF, I am, and it's unpleasant - extremely painful with nasty symptoms and side effects and dangerous to boot. Plus, it can result in the cancellation of the cycle. It's harsh, yes, if you're on the receiving end of a cancelled cycle ... but you can't make babies if your ovaries explode either, so thems the breaks. I'm not entirely sure if you can live if your ovaries explode actually. Huh. Better to stop and give it another go later.
Anyway, obviously, with the correct amount of freaking-outedness, and armed with a warning that this could be the proverbial nail in the coffin of this cycle, off I went for bloods to check ... something (they did tell me what but I was too busy mentally repeating shit, shit, shit, shit, shit and having a panic attack to clock what it was) ... and the results of that would confirm whether it was game over. Blood results are due in at 2pm. Sooo, that's about 5 hours of a having a really bad headache from trying to convince yourself that it would be ok if this was the end. I didn't even feel better about the possibility of no more injections oddly. Or comfort shopping. We'll blame the hormones for that one though. I can't imagine any other reason for it.
But, the results came back that my estrogen levels were within normal range and the decision had been made by the powers that be that we would continue, even though I have follicles coming out of my ears. Don't ask me how that works. All I know is that it's not over and I have scraped through this milestone by the skin of my teeth.
So, I have another scan to check progress (the hope is that some ... presumably a lot ... of the follicles will fail to develop, leaving me where I would much prefer to be - with my 'perfect picture') on Saturday morning, as well as another blood test to make sure that my whatever is still within normal range. Did I mention that the scan is at 8am?? 8am!! On a Saturday morning!! When I expressed this sentiment to the nurse with rather high-pitched horror, she laughed and responded with a well, we'll be here. I repeated this to the husband with some disgust, and he passed the observation that they will probably have been there all night, so it's not the same as having to get up at 8am. He's such a good husband patting me in the head like that. I'm all about the sympathy at moments such as these.
So, we live to inject another day. Just.
Tuesday 22 April 2008
Hmmm...
I want this.
I really, really, really, really want it.
Really.
It's a new, signed first edition copy of my favourite book. Do you think the husband would kill me for buying it?
I was going to replace my copy anyway ... I've had it for about 10 years and it's survived being read fifty five million times in that time, as well as a flood, but it's falling apart a bit. It's just a bit of a toss up between $25.00 for a mass market paperback, or you know, paying the mortgage this week.
It could be a reeeeally early 30th birthday present ...? (Bearing in mind that my 29th birthday was last week)
But, considering he went an interesting shade of puce when I mentioned it, I'm guessing it's a no. I even showed him my injection bruises first too to soften him up.
Bollocks. He's turning into a hard ass. You know how they say that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission? I should've done that.
(Or, he knows about the new boots I put on layby the other day ...)
Speaking of injections (we were, weren't we?), I have a scan tomorrow to see how things are going on the stimulation drugs. We're hoping it'll show a good number of follicles - I guess around the 8/9 region. We don't want too many because that's very bad for me, but we don't want too few either because, well, that'd be crap. I think tomorrow tells us when egg collection will be as well but I'm not entirely sure about that (it really would have been helpful if I hadn't lost my IVF information folder). We've been given an indicative date so far of the week of the 28th - as in, next week.
It's a rather pleasant thought at this point that I may only have another week of injections to go. Puregon is evil (I'm actually a bit embarrassed about the whinging while I was just on Buserelin. It's far more justified now!) and leaves wicked bruises (I tried to take a photo of the one I gave myself last night because it's HUGE, but I'm a pasty ginger, so bruise aside, all I got on the camera was glare) and I'm kinda running out of places to stab myself. Plus my ovaries feel a bit like they're going to pop (I hate to imagine what they'll be like in a few days) and I definitely look like I've eaten all the pies.
Still, it's all worth it. If it works, we'll have a family (all being well), and if it doesn't, we'll know we did everything we could.
Monday 21 April 2008
Wednesday 16 April 2008
Speechless is what I am
Picture this ...
I am sitting on the couch reading a book while the husband is cooking dinner, using brand new knives which I gave him this afternoon as a present.
I can hear a regularish thunk thunk thunk as he chops stuff up with great enthusiasm.
Me, calling out "How are your new knives?"
Him "They're great!! You could chop the end of your finger off and not even feel it!"
Me "Cool!"
...
...
Me, suspiciously "Have you?"
At which point he comes into the lounge sporting an extremely large grin and shows me a digit which, yes, is bleeding profusely.
And he wonders why I don't let him anywhere near my needles.
Yeesh.
I am sitting on the couch reading a book while the husband is cooking dinner, using brand new knives which I gave him this afternoon as a present.
I can hear a regularish thunk thunk thunk as he chops stuff up with great enthusiasm.
Me, calling out "How are your new knives?"
Him "They're great!! You could chop the end of your finger off and not even feel it!"
Me "Cool!"
...
...
Me, suspiciously "Have you?"
At which point he comes into the lounge sporting an extremely large grin and shows me a digit which, yes, is bleeding profusely.
And he wonders why I don't let him anywhere near my needles.
Yeesh.
Tuesday 15 April 2008
Um, ow!
I dunno what happened during my blood test this morning (at 7.30am) but it was nearly noon by the time the feeling came back into my arm properly. Next time it might pay to have the blood sucked from my left arm. I can do typing one handed, but it's a bit easier if that one hand is my dominant one.
I did manage to start the nurse's day with a laugh (clever me) by studiosly staring at the ceiling and declaring that I hate needles while she removed copius quantities of my life force. She, obviously, knew exactly what I was in the middle of by my forms and therefore knew that I was being a complete baby about having my blood taken just because I can. There's a difference though - I have to look when I inject myself. Or at least I do while I point the needle in the direction it needs to go - but from there my eyes are either very closed or pointed as heavenward as they go. I'm not taking my own blood so I get to not look. It's like a little bonus. Kinda.
Anywho, down regulation went perfectly (the hospital's word) and they rang me with the results (instructions are very clear that we're supposed to ring them) while I was busy giving myself a flaming headache over whether or not to ring in, or just wait until I went into the hospital this afternoon to pick up more needles and drugs. It must be nice for them though, having the chance to give some good news when they probably spend a fair amount of time handing out bad news.
This next bit is the really tough bit, but as I said the other day - you can do can stand most things if you know when the end of it is. From here, we should be done and dusted within the month.
17th April - start stimulation drugs.
23rd April - scan to see how follicle growth is progressing.
Week of 28th April - egg collection.
I did manage to start the nurse's day with a laugh (clever me) by studiosly staring at the ceiling and declaring that I hate needles while she removed copius quantities of my life force. She, obviously, knew exactly what I was in the middle of by my forms and therefore knew that I was being a complete baby about having my blood taken just because I can. There's a difference though - I have to look when I inject myself. Or at least I do while I point the needle in the direction it needs to go - but from there my eyes are either very closed or pointed as heavenward as they go. I'm not taking my own blood so I get to not look. It's like a little bonus. Kinda.
Anywho, down regulation went perfectly (the hospital's word) and they rang me with the results (instructions are very clear that we're supposed to ring them) while I was busy giving myself a flaming headache over whether or not to ring in, or just wait until I went into the hospital this afternoon to pick up more needles and drugs. It must be nice for them though, having the chance to give some good news when they probably spend a fair amount of time handing out bad news.
This next bit is the really tough bit, but as I said the other day - you can do can stand most things if you know when the end of it is. From here, we should be done and dusted within the month.
17th April - start stimulation drugs.
23rd April - scan to see how follicle growth is progressing.
Week of 28th April - egg collection.
About 5 days after that is embryo replacement.
Nothing but good times ahead.
Saved! By the colour availability ...
I phoned Karen Walker, just out of curiosity, to see if they have the hat in stock. They do, but in purple.
Eurg! So ends the need to make budgety room for that little lust-have. Me and purple ... not so good.
Still, I'm not one to cry over spilt milk when there are options available. I'm on the waiting list for this (which hopefully won't come out in this colour or I'm screwed).
Hehe.
What? How else is a girl supposed to fill the hours between blood test and result?
Oh. Work. Well yes, I suppose there is that.
Eurg! So ends the need to make budgety room for that little lust-have. Me and purple ... not so good.
Still, I'm not one to cry over spilt milk when there are options available. I'm on the waiting list for this (which hopefully won't come out in this colour or I'm screwed).
Hehe.
What? How else is a girl supposed to fill the hours between blood test and result?
Oh. Work. Well yes, I suppose there is that.
Monday 14 April 2008
Bat Country
My second down regulation blood test is tomorrow.
For the last several days as it's drawn closer I've been positive and negative in equal turns, hoping that this time everything is ok, yet scared that it will be because of what comes next.
In general I feel sick, and tired, restless and unfocused, sad sometimes, fine others, and angry every now and again, and the headaches are a bunch of fun too. My insides are cramping constantly and horribly in reaction to the drugs which are making them do the opposite to what they want to do, I have bruises on my stomach from the injections and a big lump on one side which aches and hurts - just a deep bruise, but still, there are more to come and it's hard doing it to yourself. It's a nasty business that I'd like very much to be overwith, so we can move on, hopefully, one way or the other at the end of it. But, in the short term, for now, as long as tomorrow goes ok, it's enough because we'll be getting somewhere for the moment. We won't be getting anywhere nice, but it'll be progress at least.
It was the hardest thing turning around and starting over when the last down regulation failed. I don't think I could describe to you the fear that this could just be the beginning of all the things that could go wrong, and that sinking realisation that no, things are not necessarily going to be ok. I really don't want to have to do it again.
Knowing that you're facing down one of the biggest challenges of your life and you're not doing to be the same person at the end of it, because you can't be - I can see why some people go into hiding until it's over. Keeping any sense of normality about you is ... well. You've got to set your mind to it, that's for sure.
I thought I might know how it may be doing this, but, like so many things, experiencing them is a bit of a kick in your naive little pants. Still, better a kick at the beginning than a kick at the end, and with a little luck and a lot of breath-holding we've had our set back and this'll be over within the month.
If not, I'll be needing treats and I saw this fantastic hat at Karen Walker.
(It may also be justifiable as a reward, thinking about it ... Weee!)
For the last several days as it's drawn closer I've been positive and negative in equal turns, hoping that this time everything is ok, yet scared that it will be because of what comes next.
In general I feel sick, and tired, restless and unfocused, sad sometimes, fine others, and angry every now and again, and the headaches are a bunch of fun too. My insides are cramping constantly and horribly in reaction to the drugs which are making them do the opposite to what they want to do, I have bruises on my stomach from the injections and a big lump on one side which aches and hurts - just a deep bruise, but still, there are more to come and it's hard doing it to yourself. It's a nasty business that I'd like very much to be overwith, so we can move on, hopefully, one way or the other at the end of it. But, in the short term, for now, as long as tomorrow goes ok, it's enough because we'll be getting somewhere for the moment. We won't be getting anywhere nice, but it'll be progress at least.
It was the hardest thing turning around and starting over when the last down regulation failed. I don't think I could describe to you the fear that this could just be the beginning of all the things that could go wrong, and that sinking realisation that no, things are not necessarily going to be ok. I really don't want to have to do it again.
Knowing that you're facing down one of the biggest challenges of your life and you're not doing to be the same person at the end of it, because you can't be - I can see why some people go into hiding until it's over. Keeping any sense of normality about you is ... well. You've got to set your mind to it, that's for sure.
I thought I might know how it may be doing this, but, like so many things, experiencing them is a bit of a kick in your naive little pants. Still, better a kick at the beginning than a kick at the end, and with a little luck and a lot of breath-holding we've had our set back and this'll be over within the month.
If not, I'll be needing treats and I saw this fantastic hat at Karen Walker.
(It may also be justifiable as a reward, thinking about it ... Weee!)
Say again?
I can't say I was paying a lot of attention, but what penetrated through the haze of uninterestedness late yesterday, is that there is a variation of America's Next Top Model coming to TV.
Apparently, they're looking for the "most smartest" model.
'Most smartest' compared to what exactly?
A rock?
Apparently, they're looking for the "most smartest" model.
'Most smartest' compared to what exactly?
A rock?
Friday 11 April 2008
Poor 'puter - 'twas terminal
Someone said to me yesterday, in the context of a conversation about the rising cost of absolutely everything, that the only thing getting cheaper is technology.
I thought she had a point at the time, but now I'm wondering if she'd like the bill for our new laptop ...? It didn't feel that cheap at all, even after I convinced the husband to just buy the one with bells, and leave the one with whistles for some other hapless computer-purchasing soul.
What caused me horror most of all though, more than replacing a computer which was barely out of nappies, was the salesman, trying to sell us an extended warranty, busy talking to himself about the virtues of each option (1 year, 2 years etc), stopped dead at 3 years. Apparently there's no point purchasing a warranty for any more than three years because they're only intended to last that long.
Hello? What now? The thing costs a fortune and its life expectancy is three years?
Sounds like complete ass to me, but admittedly, the last one did fry right on the three year mark. It's predecessor wasn't far off either. They argue that it's not worth fixing them after that because the technology is so outdated three years down the track (or as soon as you walk out the store ...) you should be ready for an up grade. Case in point - our old laptop was going to cost the better part of $800.00 to fix, so what did we do? New technology baby.
Anywho, being the canny wee Ginger that I am, I thought that was the perfect context within which to highlight to the husband the quality of investment that my shoe collection really is after all, pointing out to him that they cost heaps less (or, at least half ...ish) of a new computer and they last heeeeaps longer. I imagine that we made an interesting picture right at that moment - me smiling like I'd just won the Nobel prize for logic, the husband giving me his I'm-going-to-hit-you-over-the-head-with-a-shovel-when-we-get-home-you-raving-lunatic look, and the salesman was trying to extract his lower jaw from the desk in front of him so he could go and look for his eye balls which had popped out and rolled away somewhere. Apparently he doesn't spend that much on his shoes.
Still. It's a fair point.
I thought she had a point at the time, but now I'm wondering if she'd like the bill for our new laptop ...? It didn't feel that cheap at all, even after I convinced the husband to just buy the one with bells, and leave the one with whistles for some other hapless computer-purchasing soul.
What caused me horror most of all though, more than replacing a computer which was barely out of nappies, was the salesman, trying to sell us an extended warranty, busy talking to himself about the virtues of each option (1 year, 2 years etc), stopped dead at 3 years. Apparently there's no point purchasing a warranty for any more than three years because they're only intended to last that long.
Hello? What now? The thing costs a fortune and its life expectancy is three years?
Sounds like complete ass to me, but admittedly, the last one did fry right on the three year mark. It's predecessor wasn't far off either. They argue that it's not worth fixing them after that because the technology is so outdated three years down the track (or as soon as you walk out the store ...) you should be ready for an up grade. Case in point - our old laptop was going to cost the better part of $800.00 to fix, so what did we do? New technology baby.
Anywho, being the canny wee Ginger that I am, I thought that was the perfect context within which to highlight to the husband the quality of investment that my shoe collection really is after all, pointing out to him that they cost heaps less (or, at least half ...ish) of a new computer and they last heeeeaps longer. I imagine that we made an interesting picture right at that moment - me smiling like I'd just won the Nobel prize for logic, the husband giving me his I'm-going-to-hit-you-over-the-head-with-a-shovel-when-we-get-home-you-raving-lunatic look, and the salesman was trying to extract his lower jaw from the desk in front of him so he could go and look for his eye balls which had popped out and rolled away somewhere. Apparently he doesn't spend that much on his shoes.
Still. It's a fair point.
Tuesday 8 April 2008
What should have happened, and what did happen - A study in opposites. And freakishness.
I'm very much of the opinion that if you find yourself in a position where you have to do something fun and cheerful like IVF, it really should just go to plan. Yes, yes, it's all very funny for the cosmos to have it's little jokes every now and again and I'm usually up for it, I am, but there really should be a veto on being funny during IVF. I don't think it's an appropriate time to issue a karmic kick up the ass personally. AND, I really don't think I've done that much shopping when I wasn't allowed to. Not really. OK, well, maybe, but I'm still in favour of a veto on retribution during IVF.
What was supposed to happen:
18th March - Start daily Buserelin injections (Yes, it's lovely injecting yourself, thanks. I don't recommend hitting blood vessels though - it's messy, it hurts like the dickens and it bruises something wicked. Nevermind the complete ridiculousness of having no precision aim whatsoever, and yet managing to hit a teeny tiny blood vessel with an incy wincy needle. More than once.). The purpose of the Buserelin is to down regulate my natural hormones (turn them off). Down regulation is confirmed by a 'baseline' blood test after about 2 weeks.
31st March - Down regulation blood test. (You're expected to have your period by now - it's a good sign because it 'confirms' ovulation if you have a regular cycle, and suggests down regulation is going completely to plan.)
3rd April - Start daily Puregon (or Gonal F if you're familiar with yon IVF druggies) injections (this is as well as Buserelin injections - you have to keep those going to keep your natural hormones out of it). The purpose of Puregon is to stimulate follicle (and in theory, egg) growth and gets everything ready for egg collection (the bit where they use a reeeeeally big needle to do things best not thought about in places that would turn your hair white).
Egg collection is about another 2 - 3 weeks on from there.
So, that's what was supposed to happen.
It's about a four week haul, all in all, with the drugs and the rest of it. But, whether you think you can, or not, you can stand most things if you know it's for a finite period of time, so that keeps you going - knowing that with every needle that goes in the sharps waste container, you're a day closer, there's one more injection done, one less injection to do, one less day of feeling completely horrible, and you're getting there. You grit your teeth and you do it.
What did happen:
Not the above, that's for damn sure.
I made it to 31st March feeling good. The first week of drugs was horrible, but I was feeling human again. I was feeling pretty good really if I'm honest (little did I know that I was feeling good because it wasn't blimmin working). I thought I was very clever. I also had my period (I know, I'm sorry, you don't want to know, but it's important to understanding the freakishness) - remember how that was a good sign? Hmmmpf.
On that feeling of confidence, I went for my scheduled down regulation blood test.
And the result showed I had failed to down regulate.
Peachy.
The conversation with the clinic went something like this:
Me "Hi, it's Simonne. I'm ringing in for my down regulation blood test result."
Nurse "Here we are ... (silence) ... Ahhh ... (more silence) ... You haven't down regulated."
Me "What? What? Ug!"
Nurse "You'll have to come in so we can do a scan and find out why. You might have a follicle growing." (Note to those of you who have no idea of the sinister implications of this suggestion - you DO NOT WANT TO HAVE FOLLICLES GROWING WHILE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOWN REGULATING. Just so you know)
Me "(Sigh) It couldn't just be simple, could it?"
Nurse "I'm sorry dear. Sometimes it just isn't." (That about sums it up, if you ask me)
Nurse "You won't have had a period, will you?"
Me "Yes! Yes I have!!" (Ha ha! Clever me!! Everything must be ok after all!!)
Nurse "Ahhhmmm ...?" (Which I now know, roughly translated, means - What the?? That's not normal. This girl is a freak.)
And from there it was just a confirming of appointments, and a very bad word said very loudly by me when I hung up the phone. (I'm allowed bad words during IVF, lots of them - I gave myself permission (you should've heard the one I used the other day when I stabbed myself a bit wrong with my Buserelin. The husbad was cooking dinner and dropped the frypan) - just probably not as loud in the office.)
The scan, of course, showed that I had not one, but four follicles growing. One big one, three small ones.
Not good news, and not conducive to progressing the cycle. How I managed it (the follicles) is still a mystery to everyone (I told you - freakishness).
What seems to have happened is a mass of contradictions - I appear to have ovulated normally and had a period, but I've continued (or started, or both) growing other follicles and not ovulated those, thus causing me to fail to down regulate, which is a bit of a quizzer since I did have a period, thus suggesting down regulation. The big ol' follicles sitting there suggest that I didn't ovulate after all, and yet that also doesn't explain the period. Much head scratching went on in the clinic that day, I can assure you.
Regardless of the how and the why of it though, the end result is the same - follicles are evil and we had to start over.
To get things back on track, they gave me a 'trigger' injection (flooded me with hormones) so I would ovulate and get rid of those follicles, and I kept taking the Buserelin continuously to try and stop any funny business happening this time. We hope.
The next down regulation blood test is the 15th and we're keeping everything crossed that it works because I don't know how many chances you get to get off the starting blocks before they pull the proverbial plug. I also don't much like the thought of taking the Buserelin for longer than I have to. That stuff makes you feel yuck-ky. On the flip side, I'm hoping that feeling yuck-ky is a good sign.
But, if nothing else, the set-back is a timely reminder that nothing here is guaranteed. We've got this chance by the grace of modern science, and it doesn't pay to forget or ignore that things can go wrong at any point. IVF gives couples hope when there's none, or so little there may as well be none, and it really is so important to remember that all you're being given is a chance.
In the meantime, I've adopted 2 basic rules for getting through IVF:
1. Stop. Breathe.
2. Do not google "IVF pregnancy risks". You know what they are so stop googling. Google is not your friend.
What was supposed to happen:
18th March - Start daily Buserelin injections (Yes, it's lovely injecting yourself, thanks. I don't recommend hitting blood vessels though - it's messy, it hurts like the dickens and it bruises something wicked. Nevermind the complete ridiculousness of having no precision aim whatsoever, and yet managing to hit a teeny tiny blood vessel with an incy wincy needle. More than once.). The purpose of the Buserelin is to down regulate my natural hormones (turn them off). Down regulation is confirmed by a 'baseline' blood test after about 2 weeks.
31st March - Down regulation blood test. (You're expected to have your period by now - it's a good sign because it 'confirms' ovulation if you have a regular cycle, and suggests down regulation is going completely to plan.)
3rd April - Start daily Puregon (or Gonal F if you're familiar with yon IVF druggies) injections (this is as well as Buserelin injections - you have to keep those going to keep your natural hormones out of it). The purpose of Puregon is to stimulate follicle (and in theory, egg) growth and gets everything ready for egg collection (the bit where they use a reeeeeally big needle to do things best not thought about in places that would turn your hair white).
Egg collection is about another 2 - 3 weeks on from there.
So, that's what was supposed to happen.
It's about a four week haul, all in all, with the drugs and the rest of it. But, whether you think you can, or not, you can stand most things if you know it's for a finite period of time, so that keeps you going - knowing that with every needle that goes in the sharps waste container, you're a day closer, there's one more injection done, one less injection to do, one less day of feeling completely horrible, and you're getting there. You grit your teeth and you do it.
What did happen:
Not the above, that's for damn sure.
I made it to 31st March feeling good. The first week of drugs was horrible, but I was feeling human again. I was feeling pretty good really if I'm honest (little did I know that I was feeling good because it wasn't blimmin working). I thought I was very clever. I also had my period (I know, I'm sorry, you don't want to know, but it's important to understanding the freakishness) - remember how that was a good sign? Hmmmpf.
On that feeling of confidence, I went for my scheduled down regulation blood test.
And the result showed I had failed to down regulate.
Peachy.
The conversation with the clinic went something like this:
Me "Hi, it's Simonne. I'm ringing in for my down regulation blood test result."
Nurse "Here we are ... (silence) ... Ahhh ... (more silence) ... You haven't down regulated."
Me "What? What? Ug!"
Nurse "You'll have to come in so we can do a scan and find out why. You might have a follicle growing." (Note to those of you who have no idea of the sinister implications of this suggestion - you DO NOT WANT TO HAVE FOLLICLES GROWING WHILE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOWN REGULATING. Just so you know)
Me "(Sigh) It couldn't just be simple, could it?"
Nurse "I'm sorry dear. Sometimes it just isn't." (That about sums it up, if you ask me)
Nurse "You won't have had a period, will you?"
Me "Yes! Yes I have!!" (Ha ha! Clever me!! Everything must be ok after all!!)
Nurse "Ahhhmmm ...?" (Which I now know, roughly translated, means - What the?? That's not normal. This girl is a freak.)
And from there it was just a confirming of appointments, and a very bad word said very loudly by me when I hung up the phone. (I'm allowed bad words during IVF, lots of them - I gave myself permission (you should've heard the one I used the other day when I stabbed myself a bit wrong with my Buserelin. The husbad was cooking dinner and dropped the frypan) - just probably not as loud in the office.)
The scan, of course, showed that I had not one, but four follicles growing. One big one, three small ones.
Not good news, and not conducive to progressing the cycle. How I managed it (the follicles) is still a mystery to everyone (I told you - freakishness).
What seems to have happened is a mass of contradictions - I appear to have ovulated normally and had a period, but I've continued (or started, or both) growing other follicles and not ovulated those, thus causing me to fail to down regulate, which is a bit of a quizzer since I did have a period, thus suggesting down regulation. The big ol' follicles sitting there suggest that I didn't ovulate after all, and yet that also doesn't explain the period. Much head scratching went on in the clinic that day, I can assure you.
Regardless of the how and the why of it though, the end result is the same - follicles are evil and we had to start over.
To get things back on track, they gave me a 'trigger' injection (flooded me with hormones) so I would ovulate and get rid of those follicles, and I kept taking the Buserelin continuously to try and stop any funny business happening this time. We hope.
The next down regulation blood test is the 15th and we're keeping everything crossed that it works because I don't know how many chances you get to get off the starting blocks before they pull the proverbial plug. I also don't much like the thought of taking the Buserelin for longer than I have to. That stuff makes you feel yuck-ky. On the flip side, I'm hoping that feeling yuck-ky is a good sign.
But, if nothing else, the set-back is a timely reminder that nothing here is guaranteed. We've got this chance by the grace of modern science, and it doesn't pay to forget or ignore that things can go wrong at any point. IVF gives couples hope when there's none, or so little there may as well be none, and it really is so important to remember that all you're being given is a chance.
In the meantime, I've adopted 2 basic rules for getting through IVF:
1. Stop. Breathe.
2. Do not google "IVF pregnancy risks". You know what they are so stop googling. Google is not your friend.
Monday 7 April 2008
It's dark humour, but humour nonetheless
Songs to inject yourself with drugs by:
Breaking the Habit - Linkin Park
Mr Brightside - The Killers
(There's a post coming, with an update even - hopefully it'll be up tomorrow xo)
Breaking the Habit - Linkin Park
Mr Brightside - The Killers
(There's a post coming, with an update even - hopefully it'll be up tomorrow xo)
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