After my initial ultrasound post-meds, I had two more ultrasounds prior to my scheduled egg retrieval. The first one was on January 9th, the second would be January 11th, and the third was January 13th.
On the 11th, I went in completely apprehensive and prepared for more less-than-ideal news. I hoped all six follicles were still there, and I wanted an explanation as to why my body wasn't responding as expected.
I went through the blood draw and then headed back to the imaging room. My husband was able to be there with me, thankfully, since it was a Saturday. I wasn't sure if I could make it through my anxiety without him. I got undressed and all situated on the table, waiting for my doctor and nurse to come in. When they did, they asked me how I was doing. I explained how nervous I was, that I was surprised I had so few follicles, that I only wanted good news.
My doctor and nurse both did what they could to calm my nerves. They told me how normal my feelings were, that it only takes one good egg for all of this to work. They reminded me that my age will really work in my favor. And then it was time to see what was going on.
As they were situating everything and moving the screen so I could see, I asked why I only had six follicles when I originally had 17. The only answer I could get was that these were the ones that were good, the ones that could respond. They would be my cohort to work with this cycle. It didn't and still doesn't make a lot of sense to me.
I still had the six follicles, and they were growing at a good pace. My lining was right where they wanted it. Then on my right ovary, they found an additional follicle. They weren't sure if it was new or if it had been hiding before, but I gained a follicle. I can't even tell you what a blessing this felt like. To just have another follicle, a total of seven, felt like the biggest gift I could have hoped for.
After I got dressed, my nurse taught J how to give the intramuscular progesterone shots in my ass. He practiced with saline and did great. It didn't hurt, and he seemed very comfortable. The progesterone was set to start the night of the egg retrieval.
I was able to leave that appointment feeling good, like things might just work out after all.
My next and final ultrasound was Monday, and unfortunately my husband couldn't be there with me. I was incredibly nervous for this one too, because they were determining whether I was ready for the trigger shot and whether we could move forward with the retrieval on Wednesday. It was a sort of post-op appointment, in addition to my regular follicle check.
This time I had the same seven follicles, plus two tiny ones. My doctor wasn't too hopeful that the new ones would produce anything since they looked to be so immature, but it was nice to know that, while slow, my body was responding.
I left there with instructions for my final Lupron injection, my trigger shot, my progesterone injections, and everything I needed to know for my egg retrieval. I left feeling okay about things and was just anxious to get the show on the road.
That night, I had class out of town. The trigger had to be administered at exactly 10 p.m., and I knew I would get home at 9:30 as long as everything went right. On my drive home, which takes about an hour and a half, I got pulled over for having a headlight out. I noticed it when I got back to my car after class, but what can you do at 8 p.m. in a different town about an expired headlight? The officer had to go through standard protocol -- license, insurance, registration, etc. It didn't take long, but long enough to have me panicking that I wouldn't be home and ready for my shot in time.
I did make it, and J gave me the trigger at 10 on the dot. It wasn't bad at all, and it just felt exciting to know that it was exactly what my follicles needed to get my eggs ready.
To be honest, I never once paid attention to the pain of the injections, or the inconvenience. I never once complained. I never once dreaded them, even. I looked forward to them, because for the first time in such a long time, I had reason to hope -- even if that hope came from daily needles in my thighs.
Now that it's over, I look back at all of it fondly. Those days when I didn't know the outcome yet. When it was all ahead of me. There was possibility, and I was taking action. We were moving forward.
Now we're stuck again. Stuck in sadness.
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