My first step entering into the actual IVF process was to begin daily Lupron injections in order to suppress my system. This past summer I had been on monthly depo Lupron injections to do the same thing long-term in order to eliminate remaining endometriosis after laparscopic surgery. I felt fine about beginning the daily shots and actually was just excited to be doing something and moving forward.
We began with .2 ml daily. My doctor had us use the sides of my thighs as injection sites rather than my abdomen, which I was thankful for. Something about the idea of needles going into my stomach -- even if they were only subcutaneous -- was a little unsettling. I didn't find the Lupron injections to be difficult at all. In fact, I had no problem administering them myself, and they quickly became just a part of daily routine for us.
These shots began on Christmas evening. I wasn't so sure about the timing, but it ended up being nice. I was happy to be taking steps forward, and the injections were easy to tote around when we went out or got together with friends or family. On Dec. 27th, I took my last birth control pill.
On Jan. 2nd, we went in for our first official IVF-related appointment for an ultrasound suppression check. They took bloodwork, weighed me, and did a trans-vaginal ultrasound to check to make sure I didn't have any growing follicles and that my system was sufficiently suppressed. It was, and we got the pleasant news that I had 17 sleeping follicles. Twelve on the right ovary, and five on the left. My nurse assured us that she fully expected they'd get 12-15 eggs from me. This was absolutely ideal, in my mind, and we left excited, hopeful, and anticipating more good news as the weeks went on.
On Jan. 5th, we were scheduled to begin Follistim injections in the morning, continue Lupron injections at night -- but drop to .1 ml rather than .2 ml -- and begin Menopur injections at the same time as Lupron. So we did all of those things. The Follistim was no big deal -- in fact, even less of a big deal than Lupron. I could barely feel the needles, and there was no burning or stinging from the medication entering my body. Now, Menopur... that was a different story! The first day J gave me the injection, I hadn't iced my thighs or anything. I was doing so well with everything else that it didn't even cross my mind. But let me tell you, that injection burned like Hell. I wasn't expecting it at all, and I immediately started crying. This startled my husband who let up on the injection, which in turn made it take longer. It felt like a 20-second long wasp sting.
When it was over, I just kept crying and crying. Not because the pain persisted, but because it was a reminder that this process wasn't going to be easy. That it wasn't really fair that we had to do any of this. That I couldn't believe we were here.
From then on, I thoroughly iced my thighs in preparation for the Menopur shots for about 15-20 minutes before the injection. This helped tremendously. I still dreaded them, and they still hurt, but they were much more tolerable.
My next appointment was on Jan. 9th. It was a scheduled blood draw and ultrasound to check my progress after having been on all of the drugs for a few days. I had texted my nurse two days earlier to ask her if what I was experiencing was normal. I woke up on the third day of injections feeling bloated and heavy. I could feel things happening in my abdomen, and it was like nothing I had experienced before. I was nervous it wasn't normal because I hadn't expected to feel anything so soon. She said that everything I described sounded normal, but she was surprised that I noticed it so quickly. This made me think I probably had a lot of follicles going, which I was hoping for.
When I got to the office that morning, she took me back for my blood draw, weighed me as usual, and said that they might back off on some of my drugs if I'm already feeling the effects. Again, I'm thinking I must have at least a dozen follicles going.
I get changed into a gown for the ultrasound and am feeling good. I can't wait to see what's happening inside me, and I know my husband was eager to find out as well. They turned the screen to me, and my doctor counted and measured three follicles on one side. I assumed this was the left side, where there were only five to begin with. Then he went to the other side where he counted and measured three more follicles. Only six total were responding to the medication. I couldn't believe it, and I felt such disappointment.
I am 27 years old, I have PCOS, and I am otherwise healthy. That's actually a recipe for OHSS, not very few follicles. I kept it together while the doctor and nurse were still in the room, but once they left I completely broke down.
Having been in this game for a while and knowing what I know, I know the fewer follicles you have, the fewer eggs they'll retrieve. The fewer eggs you have, the fewer will fertilize, and then the fewer embryos you'll get. And over the course of wait for transfer, you'll lose embryos, too. I couldn't help but be realistic about the information I had.
I cried most of the way home -- an hour and a half drive -- and most of the rest of the afternoon. That might seem a little extreme, but I knew what it meant. Once I got my emotions out, I decided to turn it around and get some perspective. It only takes one good egg and one good sperm to make it all happen. And that's all we needed, and I knew it was possible that it could happen to us. It has happened before for others. Why not us?
The most difficult part of the process to this point was that I now had reason to be less excited and more apprehensive, less blindly optimistic and more anxious. From this point on, I went to every appointment a little guarded and terrified to receive less than ideal news.
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