A jazzy retrieval

Well kids, it finally happened — I had my retrieval bright and early this morning. And I couldn’t have asked for a better series of events.

First, despite my inner feminist scolding of women who feel they have to shave and wax their lady bits before vaginal ultrasounds, I decided that perhaps a bit of “maintenance” would help me feel prepared for this, and maybe give me a teensie feeling of control over the situation. And I have to say, I felt maybe 1% more confident spreading my legs on the examination table, so I guess it was worth the effort?

Anyway, many good things to report: 1. My blood pressure was shockingly low when the nurse took it first thing (like 130/82, which I realize is “normal” for most people, but is frankly THRILLING for me to see); 2. My doctor showed up early and got the ball rolling, so instead of nervously waiting, we got to start 20 minutes ahead of schedule; 3. I felt like an important celebrity when my “entourage” walked into the room — I had the ultrasound tech, two nurses at the foot of the table handling the equipment and test tubes and whatnot, a head nurse up at the top who was there to make sure I was OK and administer the intravenous stuff, the embryologist and his team on the other side of the window, my husband, and my doctor. And then the lights dimmed and my doc was all, “Where’s the music?” — seriously, I was half-expecting him to crank up the Rihanna and turn this into a party (there was definitely enough floor space to thread the needle), but it turns out he just likes having jazz play while he performs retrievals.

Sidenote: I have to say, having that one nurse in the room who was devoted to ME, rather than just my vagina, was pretty amazing. She was warm and friendly, looked me in the eye, and had her hand on my shoulder the entire time, making sure I wasn’t freaking out.

So then: I got some happy drugs to make me slightly dopey but not embarrassingly out of it (and thankfully NO Ativan — hooray!), then just watched on the screen as he stuck the needle in and sucked and sucked and sucked. There was pressure, but no major pain. I thought of Aramis because at one point I could feel a single tear rolling down my cheek, but I think it was just because my eyes were watery.

Are you ready for the final egg count? Ready? Ready?

28!

Insane, right? Because of this, I was told I have a 50/50 chance of OHSS kicking in, so I’m now taking a drug called Dostinex and following a shitload-of-Gatorade protocol that also involves measuring my pee to ensure I’m expelling as much liquid as I’m taking in. Assuming all goes well, I start taking Endometrin on Friday, which brings me to my awesomepants conclusion…

We came home from the retrieval and about 30 seconds after walking in the door, we get a package delivered. Turns out it was the box of extra Endometrin that Belle had mailed me! Hello, perfect timing!

endopressie

And she even included the sweetest little card, with the sweetest little good wishes! Honestly, this whole infertility-club-members-looking-out-for-each-other thing just blows me away. I will definitely be mailing out any leftover meds I have when the time comes. Thanks, Belle! Let’s hope these actually come in useful. :)

So now… we wait. I should get a phone call tomorrow telling me how many of those 28 eggs were actually mature, and how many fertilized.

Stay tuned!

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