Misconception

by Jay-Jay Feeney

  I am able to get around the house a bit, but by 5 p.m., I am in agony. I have cramps that have me doubled over. My stomach is as hard as a rock. Am I bloated? Do I have an infection? It is a close call for me not to go to the hospital and at one point I am convinced I am going to throw up.

  ‘Dom,’ I wail, ‘Please get me a bucket and a towel.’ I am feeling hot and dizzy and so, so crampy. I am crying out in pain regularly. It hurts so much I even have a few tears that ruin the tear-free record I was going for this cycle.

  At 7 p.m., Dom fills a hot-water bottle and sends me to bed. Lying down is probably the best thing to do, so I put on the ‘Journey To a Baby’ DVD from our introductory pack from Fertility Associates.

  I’m lying watching TV and my stomach is cramping even worse, so I limp to the toilet wondering if I am simply constipated. No matter how hard I push, nothing is coming out, so I don’t think it is constipation. At about 10 p.m. I take a sleeping pill and go to sleep.

  DAY TWO—30 JUNE 2012

  I wake up, still feeling a bit crampy. Waiting to hear from Rachel this morning about how our embryos are progressing is as painful as anything I’ve experienced so far. Yesterday we only had two. Were the two we had continuing to divide evenly and look like beautiful, strong little embies? Or, how could I think it, had they died? Would the other four, by some miracle, have kicked into life?

  Until yesterday, I was feeling positive about this cycle. Now, all my being is fighting for the life of those two embryos that are our last chance. All of a sudden, Dom is pessimistic and concludes it’s over.

  ‘What will we do if it doesn’t work?’ I ask him. ‘Who knows,’ he says and it’s clear he’s angry. He does not want to face that possibility and nor do I. It has to work. I am not ready for bad news. Hey, it’s not over until the fat lady bleeds.

  Dr Fisher calls at 1.30 p.m. and says, straight up, that one of our embryos has stopped dividing but the other one is kicking on. So we have one shot. One little embie that we hope like hell keeps dividing evenly like a good embryo should. Dr Fisher tells us it’ll be good to give it one more night so we can check its quality in the morning before transfer. He promises he will be honest with me about what he thinks.

  Dom has his head in his hands and I try to be optimistic. It’s true we feel disappointed and I’m also nervous as hell because we can’t afford to lose this one. It’s quiet at home. Dom and I are just sitting here not saying anything. ‘There goes our twins,’ I say to break the silence. Dom is bummed out and winces, ‘All those things we did in preparation made no difference whatsoever’.

  At about 4 p.m. the cramps start up again and I’m supposed to be going to a charity dinner for the New Zealand Black Sticks, the women’s hockey team. They are about to leave for the London Olympics and we want to support our friend and team member, Melody Cooper.

  I read a brochure Fertility Associates gave me after my egg collection about ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome or OHSS, which is a complication that happens in five out of every 100 000 egg collections. I learn there’s a chance of death. The brochure rates the chance of death at one or two out of 100 000 egg collections, but to make you feel better about that stat, it points out that the chance of dying in a car accident is 25 out of 100 000 people per year.

  The symptoms include tummy pain, bloating or swelling, nausea or vomiting, decreased urine and severe headache, and I have all of those . . . I start panicking. What if I die?

  I’m so sore I call Dr Fisher on his personal cell phone. He told me I could call anytime, but it’s Saturday. I’m sure he needs a rest, but I’m desperate. He is cheerful when he answers the phone and there is background noise. It sounds like he’s at a bar or restaurant.

  ‘I’m so sorry for calling you,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be sorry. That’s what I’m here for. That’s why I gave you my number,’ he assures me. I tell him about my cramps, the pain and the headaches. He asks me if my ‘bottom’ hurts, to which I reply ‘No’ and wonder why that would be. He calmly tells me I just have fluid in my stomach from the egg collection and it’s nothing to worry about because it’s quite common.

  Of course, I’m trying to sound cool, calm, collected and brave, so I say nothing and keep listening. Dr Fisher tells me to call him anytime, even if it’s the middle of the night, if things get worse. The pain was pretty steady overnight and I take another sleeping pill, so I don’t need to call the doctor again.

  DAY THREE—1 JULY 2012

  Embryo transfer day! I have to be at the hospital by 11 a.m. I haven’t had an update about our embryo since yesterday so I have no idea if it survived the night. So I go about getting ready as instructed.

  I’ve been using the vaginal pessaries three times a day and I have to have a full bladder to make it easier to access the uterus. At the clinic we’re waiting in our private room and I get to sit in the flash chair again. The leg rest pops out and a tray is attached for any food or drink that may be delivered. I take off my undies and slip into the hospital gown.

  We sit and wait. Ten minutes pass and Dom whispers, ‘It has to work. If it doesn’t work and we can’t have kids, then what are we here for?’

  ‘What do you mean, “what are we here for?”’

  ‘You know, on the big scheme of things.’

  ‘What are we here on the planet for?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you think our sole reason for being on earth is to procreate?’.

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  ‘That is our job in life?’

  ‘It is,’ he responds. It sounds like the Catholic is coming out in him.

  ‘I don’t know. I thought we were here for a good time,’ I laugh. ‘Not everyone can do the job. You’ll just have to find another reason for being. Entertain the nation, that’s your reason for being.’ Then I ask ‘Will your life really be that bad if you don’t have a kid?’

  It takes Dom eleven seconds to answer—holding my breath, I count each one.

  ‘Yep. There’s a big part of me that will be unfulfilled.’ It breaks my heart to hear him say that and see the sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Are you crying?’ I ask.

  We continue to sit in silence until Dr Fisher arrives with the best news possible—our embryo has survived the night and is looking good. He asks me how I’ve been feeling since the call yesterday. I tell him I’m still crampy, but he dismisses it as normal. Then he talks about what’s happening next. He is reassuring.

  ‘This is a nice embryo,’ he tells us. ‘It’s as good as any other day-three embryo, so we’re in with a chance.’ I think but don’t say that’s how I feel whenever I buy a Lotto ticket, but I don’t always win.

  Dom asks what happened to the others and Dr Fisher says they ‘fell apart on the way through’. And he said that although we’d got heaps of sperm, most of it looked unusual—different shapes and different sizes.

  A woman in a white coat walks in and is introduced to us. Nerupi has been looking after our embryo.

  ‘You’ve been babysitting?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yes,’ she says with a smile.

  ‘If our embryo doesn’t survive, can we adopt you?’ Dom asks. She laughs and says, ‘Yes, absolutely!’

  ‘It would be the oldest adoption ever!’ laughs Dr Fisher as he excuses himself, leaving Nerupi to prepare me for the transfer.

  ‘We have a nine-cell!’ she tells us. ‘All it needs to do now is get in there and find a little posi and start developing.’ She goes on to say that the best thing I can do is be relaxed. I was fully relaxed up until my nine eggs dissolved into only one embryo and Dr Fisher commented on Dom’s sperm.

  When Dr Fisher returns I say, ‘Dom is upset because his sperm are ugly.’

  ‘Well there was heaps of it,’ he reminds us. ‘Most of it is an unusual shape. I don’t know what that’s about. But it’s likely that it’s having a significant impact on outcome. I think we’ve always made the assumption that, despite the surgery to remove the tumour, there
was no good reason your sperm should be different or abnormal or behaving differently than anyone else’s, but I think I am changing my view about that . . .

  ‘The prime determinant as to why things haven’t been going as well as you would like is probably the sperm. It’s always going to be a probable, it’s never going to be a definite. However, having said that, we looked really carefully at the sperm and we chose the very best ones we could find. Not just the good-looking ones but ones that were actually functioning well. So if we’ve got that right, and this is a beautiful embryo, we’re in with a real chance.’ I’m sure that’s his favourite line.

  My bladder is full but not to bursting, thank God, and it’s time to get going. As we walk into the treatment room we can see our embryo on the computer screen.

  ‘Awwww!’ Dom and I say together. It’s kind of ugly and messy looking, but this one looks beautiful. We can see nine fairly even-sized cells sitting inside a circle with only slight fragmentation around the outside of the circle, which doesn’t seem to be of concern.

  I lie down on the bed and I’m dreading Dr Fisher looking under my gown because of the pessaries—they are so messy. Of course, he is unfazed and tries to help me relax by saying it’s perfectly normal. The radio is on in the background—some easy-listening, golden-oldies station. It makes a nice change to the top-40 pop we always play.

  Dr Fisher inserts a speculum—one of those metal things they put in you to open you up when you are having a smear test. He does a quick scan to make sure my ovaries look healed. Then he goes to insert the catheter that has my embryo in it but finds my cervix is closed up. He asks his nurse to grab an instrument from the other room that will open the hole.

  Soon, as we watch the screen, we see the catheter enter my uterus and a small, white blip float from its tip out into my womb. It’s really incredible that we get to see this stuff.

  ‘See you in nine months little embryo.’ Dom says. ‘The eagle has landed.’

  ‘See those bubbles come out the end?’ Dr Fisher asks.

  To be certain, Dr Fisher hands the catheter back to Nerupi to check that the embryo isn’t in it anymore.

  ‘God speed, little fella,’ says Dom to the embryo as Louis Armstrong’s song, ‘What a Wonderful World’, is playing in the background.

  ‘That’s a good song for putting the embryo back,’ says Dr Fisher.

  Dom takes a photo of the monitor. ‘That’s amazing aye?’ I have to agree—it really is! After that, I’m pleased to get off the bed and have a wee. It feels good to be PUPO—pregnant until proven otherwise—and we head out into the sunshine to complete the dreaded two-week wait.

  We had tickets to see Flight of the Conchords tonight at Vector Arena. We were going to be in the fourth row. I was very excited. But my boss, Leon, called me and insisted I didn’t go.

  ‘But how can sitting on a chair, watching comedy be stressful?’

  I ask him.

  ‘Because it’s freezing outside and you’ll have to walk half a kilometre to get inside and you’ll probably have listeners coming up wanting to talk you.’ He had a point. ‘And don’t come to work tomorrow either. Take a few days.’

  Firstly, I’ve well and truly used up my sick leave already this year from when I took two weeks off after my meltdown in March and I can’t rest for eleven days. I tell Leon I’ll skip the Conchords, but be at work tomorrow.

  DAY FOUR—2 JULY 2012

  I’m PUPO and I can’t wait to tell the women on the secret Facebook group. Someone posted that I needed to eat French fries the day after embryo transfer to help implantation, and that suited me just fine. After work I head off for a greasy lunch—Dom thinks it’s a joke, but it can’t hurt and it may help.

  Tonight we went to a movie preview of Ted, a new comedy starring Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis and Seth MacFarlane. That was really funny. I don’t see how it could have harmed my embryo by going to that—they say laughter is good for us. Other than that, I am trying to keep a clear diary as much as possible.

  DAY FIVE—3 JULY 2012

  By now our embryo should be a blastocyst—a cluster of 70 to 100 cells. I try to visualise it. I also try to feel it inside me but all I feel is crampy from the egg collection.

  I’m back at work and my boss, Leon, has been quite supportive and is insisting I take it easy.

  I work in radio, how much easier can I take it? I can actually sit down on the job. I could wear my pyjamas to work if I really wanted to—after all, our listeners don’t see me. I love how sympathetic he is being, quite unexpected for Leon because he’s not very sensitive usually.

  He’s right, though, and I go straight home after the show to do my usual preparation for the next show, and then have a two-hour nap.

  DAY SIX—4 JULY 2012

  Today is the day our blastocyst should hatch out of its shell.

  My boob hurt for a second—is that a sign? And what about cravings? Is it too early? Because I am hanging out for scrambled eggs on toast. I am usually very happy with yoghurt, fruit and a muesli bar for breakfast when I’m on the air but today I’ve been hanging out for scrambled eggs. As soon as I get home from work, I make some.

  After dinner, even though I am full, I really want some pancakes —I make a couple. Is it mind over matter or am I just a pig?

  I see a list of the top trending baby names of the year online and can’t help but read it. They seem to be inspired by The Hunger Games trilogy and celebrities.

  I’ve only thought of baby names once before, during my last, brief pregnancy. I liked the name Devon, but Seven got here first and Seven and Devon? That isn’t going to happen.

  I also quite like the name Harvey but that’s obviously not happening, either—that’s Dom’s surname. Meet our baby Harvey Harvey! Nobody will think we’re weird and the kid would never be teased . . . Yeah, right!

  I don’t really like any of the trending names on the list, so that’s a bonus—we don’t want a kid who has the same name as five others in their class. Seven has had two or three girls named Molly, ditto Olivia in his class almost every year. And don’t get me started on how many Jacks and Jacksons he knows. And it’s way too soon for us to start thinking of baby names.

  DAY SEVEN—5 JULY 2012

  My blastocyst may be attaching itself to a site on the lining of my uterus. ‘Stick little embryo, stick!’ I think to myself. I am relieved that the cramps have stopped at last.

  The boss takes us out to lunch to say goodbye to our producer, Chang, who’s off to work somewhere else. We walk into the restaurant and are met by the owner who’s keen for us to try some of the craft beer he has on tap.

  ‘I’m doing Dry July!’ I lie, ‘It’s like FebFast. I’m giving up alcohol for July to fundraise for charity.’

  ‘No wonder business has been slow this week,’ he replies. Phew—looks as if that excuse will work for the rest of this month.

  When we are seated, I find it’s really hard to find something to eat on a menu that is heavy with red meat. I eat chicken and fish, but the seafood on the menu is raw. PUPO people can’t eat raw meat or fish at all. I settle for French onion soup, a spicy chicken wing and a bowl of chips. No wonder I’m getting fat.

  I end up having to use the Dry July excuse again when Dom and I go to out for a coffee and a promo girl is giving out samples of wine. It’s 3 p.m. and Dom has a coffee in his hand but I guess any time is a good time to have a wine and I do like the wine on offer, so I say, ‘Sorry. I’m doing Dry July.’

  ‘You’re not the first person to say that today,’ she replies.

  DAY EIGHT—6 JULY 2012

  By now the blastocyst should definitely be burying into the lining of my uterus—I wish I could feel the embryo burrowing in.

  It’s Friday and I can’t believe I still have six days until my pregnancy test. It’s such a drag because it’s all I can think about—getting a big fat positive.

  Dom and I go to see Melissa Etheridge in concert. We go out to dinner first and I eat so much t
hat my pants are so tight around my stomach I want to undo them. I wish I’d worn a dress. If I had though, I would have been the odd-one out at the concert. I’ve never seen so many women with short hair and flannel shirts in one place!

  The concert is amazing but I stay seated the whole time to avoid stress for our little embryo.

  When I go to the toilet a woman there stops me and, because she’s excited to meet me, asks if she can give me a hug. She rubs my back and says her ex-girlfriend would be so jealous of this. Then she asks how our baby-making is going. I don’t like lying or even misleading people so I almost tell her I’m PUPO. Then I remember the promise I made to myself to keep our news quiet. ‘No, not yet,’ I say and she wishes me luck. I am touched by her support.

  DAY NINE—7 JULY 2012

  It’s Saturday. Seven is away for the weekend with a friend so we can fully relax and take it easy. Dom and I decide to take our mums out for brunch. It’s an easy thing to do—my mum is living with us and will probably stay until Christmas and Dom’s mum lives around the corner, about 500 metres away.

  They’re both excited by the thought that we may have a baby.

  Sue tells us she’s cut down her hours and likes the idea of having time to spend with our baby.

  My mum, Robynne, gives me a look that makes me think I’m going to have to draw up a roster. At least if I am lucky enough to get pregnant, there won’t be any shortage of support from the grandmas!

  DAY TEN—8 JULY 2012

  Implantation should be complete, so the cells that will eventually become the placenta and foetus should have begun to develop. That is, of course, if we’re still in with a chance. I am feeling quite good though.

  Although we aren’t close friends with many of our neighbours, we do know most of them, at least by sight. One of them popped a book into my letterbox with a lovely note saying she’d heard me on air and thought it might help. The book was Rushing Woman’s Syndrome—The impact of a never ending to-do list on your health by Dr Libby Weaver (Little Green Frog Publishing, 2011). I am humbled by her thoughtfulness and promise myself I’ll try to find time to read it. Although, I am a bit useless at reading books like this when I have Fifty Shades of Grey and The Hunger Games—both trilogies—still to get through!