The ride.

A lot of people refer to the IVF process as a roller coaster.  A couple sits in a car, eager and anxious for the ride, going through ups and downs, laughing (if they're lucky), screaming, braving steep and scary twists until, finally, the car comes to a rest.  I've decided I don't like that analogy.  The IVF ride is more complicated than that.  On a roller coaster you can see the downhill approaching, you know to brace for it, and you know when it's going to end.  IVF isn't that predicable.  So, I've decided it's more like The Zipper.  Remember that one?  That crazy thing went up and down too, but it also spun you around without any warning.  Well, I don't think there was any warning ... my 10 year old brain certainly never wrapped itself around that mystery.  The rides are similar, but the Zipper adds the element of uncertainty... and it's the uncertainty that makes this process tough to take.  I haven't been on an actual Zipper in decades.  But, for the last couple of weeks, I feel like I'm right back at the amusement park, only this time - it isn't for fun and games.



The daily doctor appointments continue.  My internal alarm clock knows to wake me up at 530 - 6 am in order to get me ready and to SGF on time.  I'm tired.  Today my eyes feel heavy and I am trying to muster the energy to last another few days of drugs.  Since the injections started the Carny Zipper Gods haven't spun me around much and I've enjoyed a break from the unpredictable ups and downs.  It's as if the ride got stuck, at the top, where the view isn't all that comfortable, but after time it isn't so terrifying.  But, if I'm being honest, I'm worried about when the ride starts back up again.  Will I be able to hang on to my positive perspective and general (somewhat surprising) sense of calm?



The injections have been a breeze.  No mood swings, no tears, no eating binges.  The appointments show me everyday that my beloved follicles are growing.  I like to believe they're all (7-9 of them depending on the day and the technician)  working really hard to get themselves to the optimal size.  Some are better at it that others.  Today one follicle was 15.4mm.  Just above the goal of at least 14mm (the acceptable egg making range is 14-18mm).  Another follicle on my somewhat lazy right sided ovary was 12.1mm.  That little guy has fight, I'm sure of it.  And he has a couple more days to catch up (before the leaders get too big to continue with meds).


(the chicken follicle came first.  then the egg.)

Then what?  Then I get the trigger whopper shot.  This shot is the biggest needle of all the injections.  Unlike my daily doses, I can't give the whopper to myself.  I've asked my awesome nurse anesthetist neighbor to do it for me.  H, you recall, wasn't able to go to the injection class.  And, bless his heart, he just doesn't want to inflict any pain on me.  A nurse, we agreed, can get this done quickly and professionally.  My neighbor agreed to do the shot before really understanding what it would do to me.  I think I caught him off guard the other day when I said, "So- you're gonna make me some eggs!"  The whopper will help my body make an egg for each appropriately sized follicle (in a normal cycle, the body will only make one egg and shut down all the other follicles).  There will be some attrition.  I likely won't get as many eggs as there are follicles.  That's where my concern begins.


(btw, my neighbor looks nothing like this, but in my head, the shot does)

First, there's surgery to extract the eggs.  How many will there beeeee????  No way to predict.  We'll have to wait for the results.  Once those are in, we'll have to wait and see how many eggs were successfully fertilized   More attrition.  Once those results are in, we'll have to wait and see how many will be viable for implementation.  Even more attrition.  Assuming there's at least one viable embryo, there's another procedure to transfer it back to my uterus.  Remember the mock embryo transfer?  The one that made me faint? You can imagine, I'm a little apprehensive about the real deal.  Then what?  Another wait...  A two week long wait at the end of which the doctors will tell me I'm pregnant or I'm not.  That's not the end, by the way.  Then they measure something called beta (more blood tests; my arm already resembles what I imagine a heroine addict's to be).  The number should double every other day.  The rising beta will tell us if the pregnancy is sticking.  There's a big fat wait around every corner, the results of which may send me spinning (into sadness, or into uber-cautious happiness).  My peaceful Zipper ride is about to enter turbo mode.  I hope I handle it well.  That's the only thing I can do.  Worrying won't make a baby.  Neither will stress.  And the tears I feel welling up when I think about it too long won't help either.  A part of my body I have no control over will either take to a pregnancy or it won't.   That's why I consider it my only job to give my insides a peaceful environment in which to work.  My prayers are of course for a child, but also for serenity.  I can't let that Zipper scare me.  I want to land on my feet - no matter what.