week 3
where every day is a Gonal F day.
By the time I woefully wrote that last entry (because things the path to progression is always paved wiht fuckups. Or something)(am typing one handed, what with the back of the other hand being all plastered to my forehead), a Plan was already in place.
It being: if my period arrived between Friday and Saturday morning, call to arrange bloods for Sunday morning, or if my period didn't arrive by then (which, OF COURSE), call Sunday to arrange bloods that morning.
Which was essentially the same plan but with added instructions.
and because the internet is way too interested in my reproductive organs, or maybe because I'm way too eager to share, my period arrived sometime around 1am this morning, and I was awake for it because sleep! Is for the weak! So I called in at 7.40am, and was presenting my veins to the nurse by 9.
Bloods were done while Daniel was all concerned and before being moved, trying to stop the blood letting action, then he was pushed further out the way while I had my Gonal F lesson and then stabbed myself in the belly fat (sexy!).
In the midst of all this drama involving injectypenthings and me turning green because I just INJECTED myself FAHFUXAKE, he perked up, slapped a huge smile on his face, pointed at some random something in the air that didn't actually exist, and said "baby!".
Well, uh, yes. Correctamundo. But, dude, how did you know?
Ha ha.
The last two weeks have gone well (although after tapping out yesterday's "I'm FINE!" missal, I kind of lost my shit because the mess around here is unbelievable. It's not even that big of mess either, but my place is small enough that five minutes after returning home yesterday afternoon, I couldn't take two clear steps. Each step involved dodging something big enough or small enough to re-break my damn toe, which I appear to have done thank you to the same amount of crap exploding all over the floor again this morning, and thanks to my not dissimilar to PMSy state rendering me as clumsy as all fuck. Am I the only moron who drops, burns, kicks and stumbles on shit in the week prior to their period, and who literally walks into walls the day prior? Fuck, if you had a bomb taped to you during some kind of work crisis, while I might be able to talk you down from your metaphorical ledge, you wouldn't want me ANYWHERE near you because I'd forget you were there and trip on you, and then it would be all over, red rover, yessiree. ANYWAY) despite my hormones literally being all whacked out and as far from normal as possible, so if the distinct lack of John Does surfacing in the river is anything to go by, I reckon I can expect the next phase to go just as well. And having said that, stand back and watch for the inevitable histrionics about whatever the hell because I think I just jinxed myself.
So to summarise, the Synarel has left me without any kind of hormonal stimulus so that my ovaries are as lifeless as some metaphor that I can't even think of (am FINE!), and now the Gonal F, in lieu of the body's usual secretion of just enough FSH to produce a few follicles and ultimately a single egg, is going to take my ovaries from naught to a billion and make them produce numerous follicles of which around 75% should produce eggs.
In graphic terms and for the sake of the explanation, if your body produced 10 units of FSH, the Gonal F is essentially supplying 300x that amount.
Usual side effects are being able to feel your ovaries because they get huge oh my heck.
I don't know about the other side effects because that first one has squicked me into a temporary Google black ban.
By the time I woefully wrote that last entry (because things the path to progression is always paved wiht fuckups. Or something)(am typing one handed, what with the back of the other hand being all plastered to my forehead), a Plan was already in place.
It being: if my period arrived between Friday and Saturday morning, call to arrange bloods for Sunday morning, or if my period didn't arrive by then (which, OF COURSE), call Sunday to arrange bloods that morning.
Which was essentially the same plan but with added instructions.
and because the internet is way too interested in my reproductive organs, or maybe because I'm way too eager to share, my period arrived sometime around 1am this morning, and I was awake for it because sleep! Is for the weak! So I called in at 7.40am, and was presenting my veins to the nurse by 9.
Bloods were done while Daniel was all concerned and before being moved, trying to stop the blood letting action, then he was pushed further out the way while I had my Gonal F lesson and then stabbed myself in the belly fat (sexy!).
In the midst of all this drama involving injectypenthings and me turning green because I just INJECTED myself FAHFUXAKE, he perked up, slapped a huge smile on his face, pointed at some random something in the air that didn't actually exist, and said "baby!".
Well, uh, yes. Correctamundo. But, dude, how did you know?
Ha ha.
The last two weeks have gone well (although after tapping out yesterday's "I'm FINE!" missal, I kind of lost my shit because the mess around here is unbelievable. It's not even that big of mess either, but my place is small enough that five minutes after returning home yesterday afternoon, I couldn't take two clear steps. Each step involved dodging something big enough or small enough to re-break my damn toe, which I appear to have done thank you to the same amount of crap exploding all over the floor again this morning, and thanks to my not dissimilar to PMSy state rendering me as clumsy as all fuck. Am I the only moron who drops, burns, kicks and stumbles on shit in the week prior to their period, and who literally walks into walls the day prior? Fuck, if you had a bomb taped to you during some kind of work crisis, while I might be able to talk you down from your metaphorical ledge, you wouldn't want me ANYWHERE near you because I'd forget you were there and trip on you, and then it would be all over, red rover, yessiree. ANYWAY) despite my hormones literally being all whacked out and as far from normal as possible, so if the distinct lack of John Does surfacing in the river is anything to go by, I reckon I can expect the next phase to go just as well. And having said that, stand back and watch for the inevitable histrionics about whatever the hell because I think I just jinxed myself.
So to summarise, the Synarel has left me without any kind of hormonal stimulus so that my ovaries are as lifeless as some metaphor that I can't even think of (am FINE!), and now the Gonal F, in lieu of the body's usual secretion of just enough FSH to produce a few follicles and ultimately a single egg, is going to take my ovaries from naught to a billion and make them produce numerous follicles of which around 75% should produce eggs.
In graphic terms and for the sake of the explanation, if your body produced 10 units of FSH, the Gonal F is essentially supplying 300x that amount.
Usual side effects are being able to feel your ovaries because they get huge oh my heck.
I don't know about the other side effects because that first one has squicked me into a temporary Google black ban.
posted by aibee at 13:08
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