DAY FIVE—20 JUNE 2012
Dom, Seven and I go out for brunch together. It’s also our wedding anniversary—Dom and I have been married for eight years and we’ve been trying for a baby for seven of them. On the way, we stop by our favourite magazine shop. I didn’t intend to, but I find myself in the parenting section. It can’t hurt, can it? I’m not pregnant yet but I want to get into the zone!
We also celebrate that night with a romantic dinner out. Of course, since we work together and live together, by the time dinner comes we never have anything left to talk about. So, we use the opportunity to discuss our thoughts on this round of IVF. Dom is having a red wine and I am seriously jealous—my mouth waters. But then I think of my growing eggs and snap out of it.
At the end of the discussion we agree neither of us wants to think about what we’ll do if this cycle doesn’t succeed.
DAY SIX—21 JUNE 2012
So, I’ve been taking Gonal-F for four nights and have to go to Fertility Associates to take my first dose of Cetrotide to stop me ovulating. It’s a more complicated process because I have to mix it myself and then inject it. I do all of this and as soon as the injection is over, a red rash about the size of my palm appears around the insertion point.
It’s itching like crazy but I’m not allowed to scratch it. Why did I not bring my SkinCalm cream with me? All I want to do is scratch it. After about ten minutes the nurse tells me I am reacting as per normal and sends me home. I drove myself there so I’m driving home uncomfortably, just dying to lift my top up and give myself a good scratch, but I suck it up. When I get home I take a look at it and it is not pretty. A welt about four centimetres across has formed. I show Dom and he feels my pain—awesome. It even looks sore but I’m pleased the pain, itching and swelling die down after about 45 minutes.
DAY SEVEN—22 JUNE 2012
I woke up in the morning with the hugest and darkest bruise I have ever had. It’s about 5 centimetres long and 2 centimetres wide and it’s dark purple. It looks like the really bad hickies fourteen year olds give each other. It looks a lot more painful than it feels but it reminds me how brutal this whole IVF game is.
It’s quite an impressive thing to show off to people at work. I say, ‘Do you want to see my IVF bruise?’ and, without giving them a chance to respond, I whip up my T-shirt. Everybody steps back with a wince. It cracks me up every time.
I begin to get the feeling there’s some action in my ovaries—I can tell there are eggs ripening in there. I feel confident about this time, despite feeling twinges and the odd minor cramp. It’s slightly uncomfortable but not painful.
DAY EIGHT—23 JUNE 2012
Saturday morning I woke up full of excitement. I was going to have the first scan of this cycle. How many eggs would it show? I’m guessing I’ll have three because Dr Fisher told me he was going for quality over quantity. I’m certainly not expecting many. Dom is excited, too, but trying not to get his hopes up. He reminds me that he has already done his job and flooded the clinic with his sperm. Now, he says, it’s up to me. No pressure!
As soon as we arrive the nurse on duty, Miranda, sweeps me away for a blood test to check my hormone levels, I guess. As usual, I look away while she is doing it.
I am relieved as soon as it’s over and thank her and say, ‘Now I just have to have my vagina violated . . . It’s such a playground here!’
Dr Fisher pops his head in. He looks tired, but it is 9.15 a.m. on a Saturday—he must work a lot of hours. He’s very jovial all the same and makes a few jokes with us. In the treatment room, I go behind the screen, take my knickers off and lay down on the bed. I put the blanket over my lower half and lift my knees up into the ‘I’m just about to get a smear test’ position. ‘Right, I’m nude from the waist down!’ I yell.
Dom and Dr Fisher appear on my side of the screen.
He lubes up a long scanning wand and gently inserts it. I can see my cervix on the screen. We count three follicles on the left side. They are about 1.5 centimetres in diameter—no wonder I feel bloated. On the other side there are at least four more. Things are looking good—seven follicles in total that will all, hopefully, keep growing.
The nurses compliment me on the ‘beautiful response’ and tell me I’ve got lovely, juicy follicles. That makes me laugh out loud. Once I’m fully clothed, I am booked in to come back on Monday for another scan. There may even be more eggs by then and it might be possible to book the egg collection on Wednesday. It all seems so fast!
I’m feeling pretty happy and realise I haven’t cried once this cycle, which is a first. It must be the happy pills. Dom and I high-five each other.
DAY NINE—24 JUNE 2012
I felt tinges of discomfort all through last night and woke up with the biggest headache I’ve ever had. I manage to get through the morning but by 2 p.m. I need to lie down. It feels like a migraine and I need to wear a sleep mask to block out the light.
I sleep until almost 5 p.m. and I don’t want to get up then. My head is throbbing and my belly is swollen and heavy and I can’t get into a comfortable position. Instead, I get up and complain to Dom. He’s as sympathetic as he can be but no-one, not even Dom, can take away this pain for me.
At one point I run to the toilet thinking I am going to be sick, but it doesn’t happen. I know it’s going to get worse as the week goes on as my eggs are hanging around in my ovaries. Because I have taken a drug to stop ovulating, they are not going anywhere—they’re just hanging out. And it’s not a fun party. I can’t wait for my second scan tomorrow.
I know I’m jumping the gun, but I can’t resist looking up the Chinese birth chart that was found buried in a tomb near Beijing, where it had been hidden for 700 years, to see what sex my baby would be if I had one. Since we are guardians of my nephew, it would be nice to have a little girl. So, I look up the month the child is conceived, which will be June if this works, and the age I would be when I give birth, which will be 38, and it says I’ll be having a girl!
DAY TEN—25 JUNE 2012
The discomfort and headaches haven’t let up. At least I know this has to be a good sign. I am whipped into Dr Fisher’s office and asked to take off my pants. He has more success with me doing this than my husband at the moment! As I’m getting undressed behind the screen, I tell Dr. Fisher that I’m very uncomfortable.
‘Is that a good sign?’ Dom asks.
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘Put it this way, if they were your testes, you’d be carrying them around in a wheelbarrow! They are three times their normal size.’
I’m waiting with my legs apart for Dr Fisher to do his thing. I love how he makes small talk about minor things to cover up the embarrassment I am enduring.
‘So what time did you finish work?’ he asks as he lubes up the wand and slips it in. It’s mortifying. But then again, I’ll be exposing a lot more in childbirth, should I get the chance!
‘We came straight from work. We had a staff meeting and KFC delivered lunch, so excuse me if I smell of fried chicken!’
The follicles have grown slightly but we’re still counting about seven. It looks as if I will be ripe for the picking on Thursday. I am so excited I practically skip out of the treatment room! Then Dom asks a question.
‘How do you know what’s good sperm?’
‘You can’t tell,’ says Dr. Fisher. Then he said, ‘But how big is a chance? We’re in with a chance.’
DAY ELEVEN—26 JUNE 2012
The migraine is not good. How can I describe the pain? It’s like someone is chiselling into my left temple. I’m light sensitive and because I’ve been moaning about my swollen belly and my achy head all week, Dom is now immune to my complaints. And now I need a cuddle and some sympathy. Dammit. I’m left feeling like the boy who cried wolf.
The good news is I need to give myself the last injection of this cycle later tonight—of Ovidrel—to trigger the release of my eggs, so they’ll be ready for collecting in 36 hours. My egg collection is scheduled for midday Thurs
day so I have to set my alarm for midnight tonight to take the Ovidrel! Okay, so technically that’s going to be on Day Twelve. Anyway, I need to get used to broken sleep if I’m going to have a baby.
DAY TWELVE—27 JUNE 2012
My alarm goes off at midnight and Dom jumps out of bed in a panic. I have to laugh— he thought it was 4 a.m. and we needed to get up for work. I tell him to go back to sleep and make my way to the kitchen for my last injection. It only takes a minute or so and I’m done. Now, it’s up to the egg gods.
Getting back to sleep is an issue. I’m aware of my ovaries and lie awake waiting for them to hurt even more. Plus, I love sleeping on my stomach. With my belly as full as it is, I can’t—I drift in and out of sleep all night.
When the alarm goes off at the usual time of 4 a.m., Dom gets up but I don’t. I have another killer headache. When I get up to go to the toilet, I feel slow and sore. I decide I need to rest so I take a sick day because of the egg collection tomorrow. I think I’ll also need tomorrow and the day after—I will be very bruised and weak.
My headache gets worse and I stay in bed until 3 p.m., which is totally out of character. It’s rare that I’m in bed past 9 a.m. even on a weekend. I hate wasting the day and I hate lying around doing nothing, but my body is telling me to stay put. Dom is very supportive, which is nice.
DAY THIRTEEN—28 JUNE 2012
It’s EC Day, as we call it in fertility circles—EC is short for egg collection. It’s booked for midday. I’m not as sore this morning but I am really excited. I’m not allowed to eat after 6 a.m. so I get up at 5.30 a.m. to eat something then I go back to bed. I’m out of bed again by 8 a.m. I tried to stay in bed to shorten the time I’m awake but unable to eat—my body seems to need food every three hours. I’d love a cup of tea but I can only drink water until 10 a.m. and after that it’s nil by mouth.
I wear my loosest jeans without a belt and get my kit organised—it contains all the used needles and other gear that I need to return to the clinic.
I am a wee bit nervous because I really want lots of juicy, plump, fertile eggs for Dr Fisher and his team to play with. Imagine if I got more than one embryo and we could freeze some? That would be a dream—it hasn’t happened before.
Still, I remind myself that our odds are lower than normal. The thing I think is the biggest risk with me is the implantation. So far, I haven’t been able to sustain a pregnancy even with a good embryo. I don’t want a miscarriage. I need to have a baby. I’m absolutely ready for it and I have my heart set on it.
As we are about to leave for the clinic Dom says to me, in a heartbreakingly sad voice, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t be a father.’
At the clinic, I have to wee three times before I go in—nerves, I guess. We are led to a private room to wait for the EC and where I will recover afterwards. Last time we were in here, Dom was having his TESA. It’s my turn to sit in the flash chair today!
Shirley, the nurse, comes in and asks me to insert the pad into my knickers to wear afterwards. Oops—I’m wearing a G-string! That means I’ll have to wear hospital-issued mesh undies. Gross. Glam fashion is definitely not a priority around here!
My weight is recorded, blood pressure taken, another form is filled out, and I’m given Utrogestan vaginal pessaries to take home with me. Three times a day after the egg collection until my pregnancy test, I need to insert these pesky things inside me to help line the uterus in preparation for the embryo implantation, but they are so very messy.
I joke to Dom, ‘No more sex for you for the next couple of weeks.’
‘Add that to the Great Drought of 2012.’
At least we could still laugh about it! It’s good to have a sense of humour in these times of stress. Yes, so maybe we haven’t bonked like rabbits as much this year but I have been battling depression and anxiety and haven’t been at my best. Now I’m focused on the IVF, and we have a lifetime ahead of us. Surely he can forgive a small lull?
Shirley gives me a few instructions for after the procedure. ‘You must go home and rest. You know you can’t drive for 24 hours?’
Dom pipes up, ‘Well, she can’t anyway!’
‘Not helpful,’ says Shirley.
I am left to change into the hospital gown to be ready to meet the embryologist and it’s not Crazy Bert—it’s Rachel. She runs through what will happen with the eggs they collect. Any that are not mature enough to be injected will be used for training purposes, as agreed, and the rest will be injected with Dom’s thawed sperm this afternoon.
Rachel says she’ll call us in the morning with a progress report. She asks if we would like one or two embryos put inside me. I really don’t want to make that decision until I know how many we have and what quality they are.
Ideally, I would just go for one, but if things aren’t looking too good, I’ll consider two. The idea of twins freaks me out, but at this stage I’ll take what I can get. Dom’s definitely keen to put all available embryos inside—spot the guy who doesn’t have to carry the baby or birth it!
Rachel tells us she has been an embryologist since she finished university. She used to work with animals, doing IVF with them. She worked all around the United States artificially inseminating sheep and goats before she began working with people.
‘You’re experienced with all species!’ I laugh. ‘Who’s the easiest to inseminate?’
‘Probably goats,’ she says. ‘You actually tip goats upside down. They’re fine. Pat them on the head . . . no anaesthetic, nothing. They’re quite smelly though.’
It’s not long until I’m led into the operating theatre and a needle is shoved into my arm. I make Dom record everything on my smartphone because this is the last thing I’ll remember!
I’m mortified listening back when I announce to the room, ‘You’re all going to see my vagina. This is so embarrassing.’ Shirley and Dr Fisher assure me, ‘We’re not embarrassed.’ And then I continue, ‘I may have gone overboard with the waxing.’
Way too much information, Jay-Jay! Then, Dom jokes, ‘This is the reward after looking inside my scrote. This is dessert.’ Classy. And then there is a bit more to-and-fro that makes me squirm to hear, so it won’t be appearing here!
Dr Fisher finds my right ovary is hard to access—same old problem. This means he is going to have to push down on my belly as he sucks the eggs out. So, he starts with the easy—left—side.
‘Dr Fisher is very gentle,’ I mumble in my drug-induced state.
Dom counts the eggs as they come out. When we get to the third egg he is excited. ‘Third egg!’ he announces.
‘Wahooo. Where are the party streamers?’ I ask. The final count from Rachel is five eggs from the left ovary and four from the right—nine eggs!
‘That was a fairly rewarding trip to Vagina Town,’ Dom quips. ‘No wonder you were sore.’
‘It’s more painful than a TESA,’ Shirley tells Dom, as she puts mesh undies lined with a sanitary pad on me.
I’m walked back into the recovery room where I sit in the chair and fall asleep. When I wake up, about 20 minutes later, I am given some toast and jam and a cup of tea. I still feel dozy but I have to get myself ready to go home.
I am so excited that we got nine eggs. I almost can’t believe it and it gives me great hope. Dom can’t believe it either. He’s already fantasising about the big brood we could have.
It’s overwhelming to know that right now nine of my eggs are getting injected with Dom’s sperm in the lab. There is some serious Petri-loving going on in this building.
I go home to sleep off the drugs and await news from the clinic about my eggs.
When I wake, I’m sore—the drugs have worn off and I feel bruised, especially on my right side that was hard to access. I feel like I have been stabbed in the stomach and I can barely walk. Even sitting down is very uncomfortable. I yelp in pain every now and then and paracetamol doesn’t help.
I have trouble sleeping at night, too. I prefer to sleep on my stomach but I abs
olutely can’t and I hate sleeping on my back—it feels like a coffin position. Yes, I know that’s a weird thing to say, but I can’t help it. My sleep is unsettled.
GROWING AN EMBRYO DAY ONE—29 JUNE 2012
In the morning I wake up feeling a lot better. It’s still tender, but I feel well enough to walk down to the supermarket slowly. While I’m there, Rachel calls.
‘Out of your nine eggs, six were mature enough for sperm injection, but only two have started dividing.’ My heart sinks. For the first time since I started this cycle, I feel a little bit scared.
Rachel says they’ll keep checking on the embryos and call me again this afternoon with an update. I call Dom, who sounds a bit gutted, but relieved we have two to base our hopes on.
Rachel calls again and leaves a message on my phone. ‘I’ve just spoken to Dr Fisher. He would like to do a day-three transfer. He wants to see how these embryos develop. We will both give you a call back later today.’
So now I have to sit and wait—there is so much waiting with IVF. Dr Fisher calls at 2 p.m. There is no joking in his voice. Today, he’s all business as he says, ‘I know it’s disappointing to only have two possible embryos, but we’re in with a chance.’
He explains our options. He would like to see how the embryos develop until day three, so we can get a better idea of why I haven’t been able to sustain a pregnancy in the past, but if the embryos show signs of weakness he’d like to transfer them tomorrow, on day two.
There is a risk—if we wait until day three, we may have no embryos. But if that’s the case, they wouldn’t have implanted anyway. It makes perfect sense to me to wait. Dr Fisher says he will call me tomorrow anyway.
I’m feeling unsettled—the optimist in me has gone. I’m fretting. So is Dom. Seven is home from school and he wants to know if he’s having a ‘cuzzie-bro’ or a ‘cuzzie-sis’.
How do I explain what’s happening to a nine year old? So, I take a deep breath and I tell him we had nine eggs and two of them are trying to grow into babies. He says, ‘We might have twins!’ And then he says, ‘But what if one dies? Will we still have one?’ When I tell him that’s possible, he says, ‘That’s alright. One is enough!’ Kids are so innocent, and he is right—we do only need one to succeed.
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