two two be do
My second scan was yesterday morning and thank GOD, I got someone nice as my first point of call. The pity of this whole adventure has been that most of them are nice and understanding and empathetic, it's just been my luck that on the two occasions where I could have really done with someone who was all those things, I ended up being lumped with someone who was not.
It was the nurse coordinator for the unit that called my name yesterday, and she even took a good chunk of time out of her morning to veer from the usual routine of taking me from the big waiting room to the one that requires no underwear, and took me instead to a private room so she could ask I was.
I guess she could sense my mood.
This has been a really depressing couple of days. In fact, the entire time since January until now has been lacking a significant amount of the hope I had before then.
Anyway, we spent some time talking about stuff, and it helped, if only momentarily, me feel a greater connection to the unit, and allowed me to reconsider some of the angst that's been clouding this time.
She was more honest than Sunday's nurse too, possibly because the whole thing doesn't visibly bore her. On that day, at 1142 whatevers, my E2 level was lower than they'd like, but she reassured me that while two follicles wasn't great either, there may well be three four or five follicles growing on the right side, which would then be considered good.
She even apologised for bitchface too, saying she was sorry my experience had been clouded by her colleague's manner. I'd offered that I was possibly being oversensitive on the two occasions we'd met, but she said - and I quote - "No, Karen can be quite abrupt", which I was very grateful for because since that time, and again X2 since Sunday, I've been worrying about what I'd done to incur her disdain, because I'd hate to be the reason why someone so significant doesn't like me.
Not that I give a shit about her liking me on a personal level, because it's not like I want us to be friends or anything. It's that I'd hate to be so unlikable that it's enough to transcends someone's professional duty to be civil, and I'd hate more to be that person without knowing it.
The second scan produced some interesting maneuvers courtesy of the doctor operating the dildo cam, and also some even more depressing news. There are now have only notable two follicles on the left side, 17x14mm and 18x13mm, and while the right ovary was visualised (along with the contents of my bowel swirling around next to it which, while totally normal, is still strangely embarrassing), and while it had four follicles, none measured any more than 12mm.
The nurse with me this time was Eleanor, and while she's very business like and has a weird habit of talking to one's (essentially non existent) cleavage, she's also compassionate. She said that it's not a great result, and only mentioned my age in sorrowful agreement when I sighed about, wah, being too old. She also said though, that it's also how one reacts to the protocol that also determines the number of follicles, and that they've seen women in their twenties with no ovarian dysfunction who have gone on treatment and returned the same depressing number. Yay. Or not. Le sigh.
My first though was to cancel the cycle, thus saving me a fuckload of money for the next cycle, and opting instead for insemination. Their opinion? Not recommended, and not only because of the sky high squick factor. If I had only one follicle, then they'd convert the cycle and we'd all cross our fingers and hope for the miraculous less than five percent chance of conception to occur. But because I have two follicles that potentially hold two good eggs that can both potentially fertilise, continuing with the IVF with its around ten percent probability, is my best chance at conceiving.
The silver lining to this reproductive sadfest is that if I do get two embryos, I'm more certain about transferring them both. Not certain certain, mind, just less uncertain.
The techincal details are that my trigger shot (I totally typo'd "shit" on that one) is scheduled for 9pm tonight. Its job is to ripen my eggs in readiness for a retrieval on Friday, then any embryos will be transfered in a simple five minute procedure on Monday. The retrieval involves drugs which, wahoo! My good friend Enn (which almost rhymes) will be driving me there at 7.30am, and taking me home again at 11.30. Daniel will be in childcare for the day so luckily for him, I won't be floating around and feeding him catfood. I'm supposed to have an adult with me for twelve hours though, so I lied and said "sure!". Bah, I'll be fine. I've had a lot worse done to me with no one there afterwards. A whole lot, and that's not the worst of it. It'll all be fine. Daniel is going to be collected by Enn again in the evening, and I reckon I'll be halfway to being back to normal by then anyway.
*****
As I'm a squirrel snack for acquiring information that, while it may be about me, actually means nothing to me, I just called the unit to get yesterday's blood results. Annette, who I've never met before, is also a warm and fuzzy nurse, and in being told yet more shitty news, I'm certain now that the teller of the new's deivery plays a large part in how I process it. My E2 is only 2068 whatevers, which is consistent with two follicles (ie those other four haven't miraculously grown up as much as I'd hoped), which was news delivered without a bunch of bad attitude and with still a whole bunch of hope, so I'm okay with that. I'm still in there, she said, and if it takes me chasing down random bits of information to keep on top of things, then they're okay with that too.
I feel strangely hopeful.
And a little bit foolish that someone else's mood can so greatly affect mone. Then again, yesterday's wonderful nurse did say that of course it does as this is a time of great vulnerablity. I'm not used to be vulnerable, so I have a hard time accepting that it's okay to be so, and that at times like this it's okay to point at someone else and say that I feel like shit and it's not all my fault.
It was the nurse coordinator for the unit that called my name yesterday, and she even took a good chunk of time out of her morning to veer from the usual routine of taking me from the big waiting room to the one that requires no underwear, and took me instead to a private room so she could ask I was.
I guess she could sense my mood.
This has been a really depressing couple of days. In fact, the entire time since January until now has been lacking a significant amount of the hope I had before then.
Anyway, we spent some time talking about stuff, and it helped, if only momentarily, me feel a greater connection to the unit, and allowed me to reconsider some of the angst that's been clouding this time.
She was more honest than Sunday's nurse too, possibly because the whole thing doesn't visibly bore her. On that day, at 1142 whatevers, my E2 level was lower than they'd like, but she reassured me that while two follicles wasn't great either, there may well be three four or five follicles growing on the right side, which would then be considered good.
She even apologised for bitchface too, saying she was sorry my experience had been clouded by her colleague's manner. I'd offered that I was possibly being oversensitive on the two occasions we'd met, but she said - and I quote - "No, Karen can be quite abrupt", which I was very grateful for because since that time, and again X2 since Sunday, I've been worrying about what I'd done to incur her disdain, because I'd hate to be the reason why someone so significant doesn't like me.
Not that I give a shit about her liking me on a personal level, because it's not like I want us to be friends or anything. It's that I'd hate to be so unlikable that it's enough to transcends someone's professional duty to be civil, and I'd hate more to be that person without knowing it.
The second scan produced some interesting maneuvers courtesy of the doctor operating the dildo cam, and also some even more depressing news. There are now have only notable two follicles on the left side, 17x14mm and 18x13mm, and while the right ovary was visualised (along with the contents of my bowel swirling around next to it which, while totally normal, is still strangely embarrassing), and while it had four follicles, none measured any more than 12mm.
The nurse with me this time was Eleanor, and while she's very business like and has a weird habit of talking to one's (essentially non existent) cleavage, she's also compassionate. She said that it's not a great result, and only mentioned my age in sorrowful agreement when I sighed about, wah, being too old. She also said though, that it's also how one reacts to the protocol that also determines the number of follicles, and that they've seen women in their twenties with no ovarian dysfunction who have gone on treatment and returned the same depressing number. Yay. Or not. Le sigh.
My first though was to cancel the cycle, thus saving me a fuckload of money for the next cycle, and opting instead for insemination. Their opinion? Not recommended, and not only because of the sky high squick factor. If I had only one follicle, then they'd convert the cycle and we'd all cross our fingers and hope for the miraculous less than five percent chance of conception to occur. But because I have two follicles that potentially hold two good eggs that can both potentially fertilise, continuing with the IVF with its around ten percent probability, is my best chance at conceiving.
The silver lining to this reproductive sadfest is that if I do get two embryos, I'm more certain about transferring them both. Not certain certain, mind, just less uncertain.
The techincal details are that my trigger shot (I totally typo'd "shit" on that one) is scheduled for 9pm tonight. Its job is to ripen my eggs in readiness for a retrieval on Friday, then any embryos will be transfered in a simple five minute procedure on Monday. The retrieval involves drugs which, wahoo! My good friend Enn (which almost rhymes) will be driving me there at 7.30am, and taking me home again at 11.30. Daniel will be in childcare for the day so luckily for him, I won't be floating around and feeding him catfood. I'm supposed to have an adult with me for twelve hours though, so I lied and said "sure!". Bah, I'll be fine. I've had a lot worse done to me with no one there afterwards. A whole lot, and that's not the worst of it. It'll all be fine. Daniel is going to be collected by Enn again in the evening, and I reckon I'll be halfway to being back to normal by then anyway.
*****
As I'm a squirrel snack for acquiring information that, while it may be about me, actually means nothing to me, I just called the unit to get yesterday's blood results. Annette, who I've never met before, is also a warm and fuzzy nurse, and in being told yet more shitty news, I'm certain now that the teller of the new's deivery plays a large part in how I process it. My E2 is only 2068 whatevers, which is consistent with two follicles (ie those other four haven't miraculously grown up as much as I'd hoped), which was news delivered without a bunch of bad attitude and with still a whole bunch of hope, so I'm okay with that. I'm still in there, she said, and if it takes me chasing down random bits of information to keep on top of things, then they're okay with that too.
I feel strangely hopeful.
And a little bit foolish that someone else's mood can so greatly affect mone. Then again, yesterday's wonderful nurse did say that of course it does as this is a time of great vulnerablity. I'm not used to be vulnerable, so I have a hard time accepting that it's okay to be so, and that at times like this it's okay to point at someone else and say that I feel like shit and it's not all my fault.
posted by aibee at 13:37
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