Monday, September 14, 2009

Our Lady of Perpetual Swelling

Subtitled: Life on Never-Ending IVF Stims and Other Happenings

The Never-Ending Story: So retrieval will not occur until this weekend. This is 2 full weeks of stimming, people. I'm over it. I'm lugging around a sack of potatoes in my pelvis and I ache and I am tired and it sucks donkey balls. I am now injecting nearly 2 mL of designer Rx nightly into my belly for the remainder of this entire week. I guess we are sacrificing the biggest 1-2 follicles to get all the mid-size crossover models to grow up, based on our experience with fat-looking but immature eggs last time around. There might be a few more follicles this cycle, but it's hard to know since my usual MD counts differently than The Other Guy. The Other Guy is also the one who called with any and all episodes of bad news last time, so I am his least enthusiastic fan. I appreciate that it is the fault of my sad, immature eggs and not his doing, but still.

Weekend Glory: We took a mini-trip to Chicago (cut short by an RE appointment, naturally) to see U2 at Soldier Field. I am a rabid, stalker-level fan so this was a very nice gift from my very nice husband (also a fan, but not as interested in banging Bono as I am). I truly, madly, deeply love U2 and their music. The show was phenomenal, visually and musically. It's funny how my current state of mind colors everything - songs like "One," "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," "Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of" and even "Bad" really had new meaning. I could have cried.

The evening was capped by asshattery that is funny, if only in retrospect. We had great seats, 2 rows off the field, except for a group of rowdy, drunken European boys (I think I'm old enough to call twenty-somethings "boys," right?) who kept coming down the aisle to A) take repeated pictures of themselves and each other in front of the stage for each and every song and/or B) link arms, effectively blocking the entire aisle and my view, and jump into the air to high-five each other every 6-7 seconds. Now, I loves me a frenetic fan as much as the next gal, but I am a curmudgeon when it comes to these things. I paid for my seat to SIT IN. And see the show. You paid for your seat to also SIT IN (or stand near), not carouse in the aisle directly in front of me and cockblock my imagined romance with Bono. I asked them to move half a dozen times, as did the usher. The usher ultimately threatened to kick them out and they tried to pick a fight; I guess I was a little too close to the kerfuffle as my husband totally postured like was going to kick their football-loving asses for my honor (and unobstructed view)! They apologized with polite Eurocharm and all was well. (I'm not sure KB could have taken on 5 soccer youths loaded with liquid courage, anyway.)

THEN a drunken chick behind us starting hitting on my husband and actually asked him to buy her a drink. When he made a joke about his wife not liking that, she proceeded to ask to borrow $10 to buy her own beer. She offered to take down his name and address to send him a check, but he just gave her the money and said good-day. We decided that maybe we can bank good karma 1 crazy drunken bitch at a time.

AND THEN we got bad directions from a cop and ended up walking over a mile to get to the nearest major street on which we could hail a cab. We got routed through the bowels of the convention center on an underground service drive. When you feel like you are carrying two grapefruits in your belly, this is NOT GOOD. When we finally got a cab, a lone straggler was also trying desperately to get downtown, so we offered to share a ride with him. Turns out he was pissed drunk, but surprisingly coherent. He seemed in awe of me for some reason, and I figured maybe I was a little ripe from our long, humid walk...that is, until he asked me, sheepishly, "I hope you don't mind if I ask....but....are you Drew Barrymore?" HAHAHAHAHA.*

We are freak magnets. Undoubtedly.

Who, Me Worry?: Is this cycle going to be any better than the last? Will this strategy to mature the middle class eggs work or will we end up with worse results than before? Can I stand another 2 week wait if I know the egg quality isn't improved? Can I stand it even if it is? Can we manage to make more than 1 lone embryo this time? If you know the answers to any of these questions, please do tell because it continues to gnaw at me like a hungry, rabid squirrel devouring an infertility nut. I only want 2 things, really: for this to be over, and to work. Too much?

* Yeah, I'm Drew Barrymore and I'm gaining weight for a role in a period piece as a depressive, barren lady of the manor. As you can see, I am concentrating my efforts about the midsection primarily, trying to really accentuate the swollen beer-gut look with a muffin-top effect. How do I do it? Well, I'm a method actor so I begin by leading a sedentary lifestyle, inject myself with toxic levels of hormones, and consume a supra-renal daily intake of protein. Ice cream also helps.

 

3 comments:

Pundelina said...

"I only want 2 things, really: for this to be over, and to work."

Me too! It's almost over. Now it just needs to work. How many follies have they seen in there?

Your weekend away sounds like a heap of fun. Freak magnets, lol. And U2 rock - lucky you.

Simple said...

Well, I could give you the answers, but it'll cost you & if your bank account is anything like mine after IVF (once, twice, whatever), then you can't afford it. :) ha ha - that was a joke, get it? mkay.
So glad you've been able to keep your sense of humor - I was not so charming, in fact, quite the opposite.
Cheers to this working - a drink to your ovaries/eggs/etc!

Lisa said...

Sounds like quite a weekend! I can't imagine if someone would have blatantly hit on my husband when I was all hopped up on stimulants. I don't think I would have handled it quite so civilly.