Round two continues
I haven’t written throughout the whole twelve day stimulation cycle. Wow. What a difference a few months makes at a different practice and with different support persons. I feel good. Sure, in the past 48 hours I’ve had super uncomfortable pressure on my colon that makes it feel like I have to poop all the time. Sure, I hold my abdomen as I stand up from sitting and from standing to sitting position from discomfort. Sure, the skin on my abdomen is raw and tender and sore. But I don’t care and I’m almost happy about the discomfort. It’s working. The numbers are not what I hoped for six months ago when I started learning about what was possible for a 33 year old. But the numbers are far better than the zero- and failed cycle- a couple months ago at the previous practice. The nurses and providers at my current practice is patient and smart. They answer my questions and call me personally every day with results instead of sending me generic myChart messages (I asked for this). They are upfront about information and share it openly with me before I can even ask, and tell me that I should continue asking because they recognize that this is not my specialty.
And the 24the floor of the building has an incredible view of the lake and is so much more serene than the basement mill machine that was the previous practice. The sonographers here are patient and they allow me to participate in my exams and the phlebotomists are rehearsed and competent and have never once missed my veins.
Most of all, I have felt comfortable throughout this entire cycle and have not felt the negative psychological and emotional effects of the hormones as I did in the previous cycle. I suspect this is multi factorial some of which stemming from a relationship in which I didn’t feel stable and validated for my emotional needs.
This morning is retrieval day.
I finally met my fertility preservation physician in person. He’s not a man of many words but I feel heard and supported. That feeling of inadequacy and feeling lost is a thing of the past. A past practice and a past life. I have felt medically supported and more importantly, been met at my level and treated like a human who doesn’t know what the hell she signed up for.
I honestly do not remember anything from retrieval itself. I was pretty groggy coming out of anesthesia and the procedure room but one of my best friends was waiting to take me home. I leaned on her arm as I ambled down the hallway to the car. It felt good to have someone to lean on.
She made me tea and English muffins when we got home (we had discussed food the days prior) and I lay supine and watched movies while she graded papers from the other room. She kept refilling my mug with hot water and after a few hours when to meet another friend for a manicure. As someone who is so. not. medical. she was a rockstar. She was exactly who and what I needed her to be and am so lucky it was a Sunday and she wasn’t in school!
One of my best friends who happens to be a nurse anesthetist called fortuitously while I was lounging in my movie position and while we chatted about my anesthesia experience (hilarious for so many reasons) she shared about her difficult week with family tragedy. What a time to finally connect after about six weeks of phone tag.
While we were on the phone a random local number called which often means the hospital or office so I answered and placed my friend on hold. It was the embryology lab calling. My stomach dropped like someone just gut punched me worse than the cramps already coursing though my abdomen. They weren’t supposed to call until the following day. My mind racing to imagine all the possible scenarios. They dropped the vial of my few but precious follicles. They couldn’t retrieve any mature eggs from the small number of follicles. No. She was calling to tell me that the number they harvested this morning? All of those were mature and they are already safely in the freezer. I let out a huge sigh of relief. Near disbelief. It’s still not a number that allows me to sit and say okay I guess I’m finished forever but it does let me breathe. My body can do this. With the appropriate medical practice, rigorous protocol, provider attention, supervision and emotional support my body CAN do this. What a test in faith these past six months have been.
This morning when the nurse asked me to verify my birthday for the thirtieth tome I rolled me eyes when she commented that ‘it’s coming up’. I’m not ready to face another year being single. Another year without a life partner and without my path to having children.
But today is validation that one day it will happen. This is what faith feels like. It wasn’t a perfect outcome. The number in storage is low and Ill need to do this again. And probably a couple more times after that. But it’s a small win. It’s a big win. A friend I’ve recently reconnected with as a fertility champion partner keeps telling me that levels and numbers are just numbers. You can have 35 eggs and they all suck. You can have one and it be perfect. It takes one. Numbers are not the end of the story. My body CAN do this.
