Who’s Eggs in Whose Basket (Part Two)

So anyway – after a monumental meltdown of epic proportions (even by my standards) I regrouped and we headed into our next effort of trying to harvest some of my eggs.  Our FS upped my dosage and the injections began again.  Truthfully the needles didn’t bother me that much – I thank a mispent youth of self-piercings and other reckless hobbies!  But the thought of another cancelled cycle terrified me.  So it was with much relief that the first blood test showed level of 1300, much higher from the last cycle.

Following blood tests showed nicely rising levels and internal ultrasound showed some nice sized follicles, which was reassuring.  The only glitch in the situation was the cancelled cycle had meant we were cutting it fine to avoid EPU on my birthday or Fair Day (start of the Pride Celebrations in Perth).  My absolute love for Fair Day is well known among our friends – me not showing up would certainly not go unnoticed.  Which would make keeping things a secret from people slightly more difficult.

As it was I triggered on Thursday night – meaning EPU was scheduled for lunch time on my 29th birthday.  On the one hand I felt this was pretty lucky but I was kind of miffed it wasn’t a day earlier so my eggs were still a year younger (at least on paper).  We told a few friends were we in the midst of treatment (without mentioning it was actually me, not Lone, having treatment) and managed to fob off family and everyone else and were all set.  Except that it turns out I didn’t cope with everything when the time actually came.

Firstly, in my defence, I have never had any kind of surgery.  I have never been in hospital more than a quick trip to emergency for various minor incidents (ok inhaling exit mould was not so minor but you get the picture).  I hate anything medical, and have been known to not set foot in a doctors surgery for years at a time.  I really believe that your first time surgery should not involve “no knickers” and stirrups.  Seriously.

I totally freaked out.  FS was running late and I had to sit in the inner waiting room wearing my gown and ridiculous socks for almost 2 hours.  A nurse made the mistake of asking what I was thinking about and when I replied, “I am wondering if I can make a break for it and whether I could catch a taxi in a backless gown” she raced off to get L to come and sit with me.  Big mistake.  I was scared and angry and feeling very vulnerable – not my best time.  So I glared at L and refused to speak to her until I got taken into theatre.  She rang J in tears, thinking that I hated her for having to do this.  He was his usual calm self and reassured her that sometimes I really am just a brat and just to ignore me because I would forget all about it afterwards.

I woke up in theatre all sweetness and light – and apparently first words out of my mouth were, “Did I talk under anaesthetic?”  I am still astounded that I didn’t utter a single word.  L came very tentatively to see me (expecting another glare) and was greeted by a somewhat drugged up totally loving partner saying how much I loved her.  If only I could’ve said all that an hour earlier!  Both of us were totally stunned to hear we got 20 eggs!  Just before surgery the embryologist told us from my levels they were expecting 8 so that was a massive difference.  So 29 didn’t turn out to be such a shitty birthday after all.

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