Category Archives: Egg retrieval

Fentanyl is your friend

This is a 2-cell embryo on Day 2.
So much for “conscious sedation.” I was out almost as soon as the nurse injected it into my IV. (We won’t talk about the collateral damage done to both arms to get the IV going in the first place.) Right before then, I’m told I started singing “Nowadays” from the musical “Chicago.”

“… You can live the life you like. You can even marry Harry but mess around with Ike. Good, isn’t it grand …” I vaguely remember that. And I can recall turning on my side for the rump shot of progesterone. Sade’s greatest hits played in the recovery room. I remember hearing it, but I don’t remember singing along. A nurse said she wanted my autograph, so I must’ve done a decent job. I was hazy but soon awake enough to walk. At home, I slept the rest of the day — the whole day.

I think I’m done with the abrupt sleepiness from the fentanyl, but the Mr. keeps reminding me that it hasn’t been 24 hours since the procedure (it’s 8 a.m.). That’s the recommended time before I can operate heavy machinery. I didn’t think of it like that, but I guess it is a good idea that I’m working from home today editing printouts from last week. Even with uncomfortable bloating and a literal pain in the behind, I find it hard not to be celebratory.

My doctor extracted 15 eggs. Based on today’s call from the embryologist (how do you even become one of those?), seven of the 15 were mature and all seven were fertilized. Now, it’s a matter of days before the transfer of two embryos and yet another dreaded two-week wait. I’m done with injectable medications. Instead, I’m taking antibiotics twice a day, estradiol twice a day and progesterone inserts three times a day. One is to ward off infection from the procedure and the other two held prepare my body for implantation, the next hurdle.  

Advertisements

Countdown …

One innocent victim of my hormone-induced emotional outburst hours before the egg retrieval

So, just like a magwai, I can’t eat after midnight up until after the procedure Monday. It’s amazing how much you want something when someone says you can’t have it. I think the frustration is really just masked anxiety about whether everything will go as planned. I signed the waiver, but I’m still not worried about the more severe risks like excessive fluid buildup, stroke or death. I’m not sure about many things, but I’m most certain that God wouldn’t allow my last “meal” before meeting Him to be pineapple jelly crescent rolls, doxycycline and candied gummy pre-natal vitamins.

Speaking of God, I imagined laying out on the altar Hannah-style in church today after all because I just didn’t have the words to pray for what I want. We sang a song, “God is sovereign, holy and just and on His word we’ve got to trust. For the at the sound of His voice, the Earth became. When God speaks in your life, you won’t be the same.” Between the singing, ministering and worshiping, I felt my heart praying and the tears fell. It wasn’t a shining moment because I haven’t figured out how to cry and sing at the same time. Nevertheless, it was a moment that I felt like God and I were on the same page on this babies thing. It made worship at the next service that much easier. Even then, the tears kept flowing though. I’m sure it’s the estrogen.

According to the Mr., I’ve also been a little more aggressive in a way more characteristic of me PMS’ing. I never take it out on people — or at least not at people who can hear me — but it definitely comes out at the television, traffic, talking heads on TV. The victim on the way home from church was a squirrel pausing in the middle of the street. A squirrel! Yep, it’s got to be the drugs. And it’s expected to get way worse.

After the retrieval … (I should describe that. Using a transvaginal ultrasound to find the follicles, a doctor will guide a needle to where it’s supposed to go and extract fluid that should include an egg. If it does, the egg goes into an incubator. He or she will repeat that process until all the follicles are aspirated. The eggs will then pair with a fresh sample from the Mr., and then we wait.), I’ll start oral estrogen and, uh, non-oral progesterone. That’s supposed to not only make me sleepy but also edgy. Doesn’t that sound like fun for everybody?

I’ll keep taking the antibiotic to ward off any cooties from the procedure and wait again to hear about the number of eggs and the likely transfer date. In the meantime, at least immediately after the procedure, I’ll do nothing but feel the lovely haziness of good hospital drugs. As always, we’ll see what happens.