Remember that time you had a really good blog post written and then hit publish and then the internet ate it and it was lost forever in cyberspace?
Yeah…me too.
Attempting to recreate what was written earlier. I'm pretty sure my earlier post was a bit wittier!
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WARNING!
If Life Weren't so IFfy is about the good, the bad, and the ugly of infertility. This post contains the ugly and it might be a little TMI for some of y'all. Read on at your own risk!
I can't get this song out of my head every morning now. It gets me pretty pumped for our new morning shot routine. Too bad it's the wrong kind of shot!
Eight years ago if someone would have told me they had gone through IVF, I would have said "Oh, I'm sorry", probably thrown in a little pity and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Sometimes I think people's cluelessness about what infertility entails is because people actually going through it won't open up about….well...what all infertility entails.
Here's a look at one component of what happens in the lives of many people using reproductive technology.
Back in March when Paul and I met with our new reproductive endocrinologist, we briefly discussed our next frozen embryo transfer and our possible timeline. At the time, the nurse mentioned I would need to have shots. Because all of our fertility treatments were so long ago, I've now realized how the details of each separate treatment have blurred together. When the nurse mentioned shots, my brain really didn't process the information because I was still in the "How did we get back here?" haze.
Before we left for Europe, I visited our RE and had a lengthy conversation with his IVF nurse. She explained I would need to take estroidal (estrogen) pills as soon as my period arrived. So, I filled the prescription before we left and carried that little pill bottle with me all over Europe as my most prized possession. We were in Poland when I had to start taking them. With all the general anxiety you feel while traveling, I figured adding three pills a day was no biggie.
As soon as we returned from Europe, I had another doctor's appointment to make sure everything was still on schedule and looking good. Things were looking so good, in fact, the doctor said "You have a beautiful uterus". "It sure is gorgeous", his IVF nurse replied. A little flabbergasted I muttered a creative "Well that's not a compliment you hear everyday!"
It's the little silver linings, y'all!
(Or in my case, a healthy, growing lining. Sorry-infertility humor!)
After the ultrasound, I visited again with the IVF nurse and she wrote my prescription for valium (thank God! -for the FET-) She then started talking about my progesterone prescription. Thinking back to my previous IVF/FET experiences, I remembered my progesterone suppositories and although they were yucky, they were painless and easy. Just as my brain was processing 'progesterone' & 'suppository', she said "You'll also get needles for the progesterone injections". Well….shoot.
I've taught myself to always look on the positive side, so I immediately said "Oh, it's no big deal. I gave myself my fertility shots last time. Shots don't bother me."
She gave me a quizzical look and then her little light bulb went off as she put my puzzle pieces together. She responded…"Oh honey, these are intramuscular shots that go in your butt. I don't think you'll be giving these to yourself." Umm….crap.
She then proceeded to tell me that I may notice "a pain shooting down my leg…spotty redness or bruising…and lumpiness from where the medicine settles in the muscle". "Just peachy", I thought.
I highly doubted many of her aforementioned side effects would happen to me.
Back when we did our other treatments and I needed shots, Paul tried in the beginning. Those were only subcutaneous shots and he hated giving them, so I switched to having nurses at work give them to me. It was always hard to coordinate timing with the nurses, so eventually I wound up giving myself the three shots a day. I found it to be so much easier. And then the night before my egg retrieval arrived and Paul had to give me the 'trigger' shot intramuscularly in my rump. The conversation that evening went something like this:
Paul: Oh man, I can't believe I have to do this. (Sighs loudly)
Me: I can't believe I have to let you do this!
Paul: Where do I stick the needle again?
Me: Where I just had the ice cube! Where the red spot is! (Putting an ice cube on your rear gives your husband a spot to aim for and numbs the spot.)
Paul: Okay, here I go….wait…is it okay if your skin is cold?
Me: YES!
Paul: Okay…3….2….
Me: STOP COUNTING!!!
Paul: Okay…wait…do I pinch the skin first? Oh man….
Me: STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT! YOU'RE MAKING ME NERVOUS!
Needless to say, I was not looking forward to telling Paul that he was the grand prize winner of being able to stick his wife in the hiney with an intramuscular needle (longer than subcutaneous needles) everyday for a minimum of two weeks.
So, this past Tuesday (otherwise known as Shot Day 1) rolls around. Much to my surprise, my husband was calm, cool and collected. I readied the syringe and 1ml progesterone and he bravely gave me the shot…only asking once for the general location to stick me. Luckily, the doctor's office provided us with a diagram for how to find the upper, outer quadrant of your rump…you know…in case the words upper, outer and quadrant threw us for a loop. Easy, peasy.
Until about half way through the day, when a pain shot down my leg and my rump felt like someone had kicked me. And sure enough, the redness, bruising and lumpiness all arrived shortly thereafter.
It occurred to me that many of us must take our rumps for granted. We probably never think twice about them (unless it quits fitting into a beloved pair of pants.) And I realized I missed my former non-pincussioned rear end because, boy, is it painful to sit down now.
Day 2 went off without a hitch. We had switched to a new, fresh cheek so I knew it would all be okay.
And then day 3 rolls around. I was already a little apprehensive because we were back to the same sore cheek from Day 1 and we went up to 2 ml progesterone which means longer stickage time. Paul sticks me, I do my 'fish flop' that I cannot control when the needle hits that muscle, and I thought we were good to go. And then I hear him say "Wait…Oh no…the needle is coming apart from the syringe! The progesterone is going everywhere!"
Not what a girl wants to hear when there's a long needle sticking out of her.
He removes the needle and I quickly calculate how many syringes I was given (to determine if I had a spare or needed to fix that one). I also try to figure out how much of the drug actually ended up in me versus on me or on his hands. After tightening the needle back on the syringe and drawing a little more progesterone, we were back in business. I got to do another fish flop and all was well.
I've learned to quiet all the questions that run through your head…but they still creep in ever so slightly.
Did all the medicine go in?
Was the needle in the right spot and in far enough?
The seasoned me knows that those questions are ultimately irrelevant and what will be, will be.
I didn't necessarily realize just how much I had changed until I spoke with the IVF nurse today.
She called to tell me that our appointment is at 2:00 pm tomorrow…to pop my valium about an hour before, arrive with a full bladder and she would call if she heard about how my embryos were doing.
And it hit me. I hadn't even given any thought to the quality of the embryos. I had forgotten they were all graded. Last time we did an FET, it was do or die emotionally. It was the end for us. There was nothing beyond that FET and it HAD to work.
This time around, I feel as though we're only at the beginning of something wonderful.
No matter what the outcome is.
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