I just cried after our second PIO (progesterone in oil) shot. This could very easily become an excruciatingly emotional and rapidly downward spiraling post of self-pity, pain, and horror. Not because I'm overly distraught about the 10 that are no longer, but because holy hell this hurts like mad.
An aside- I may come back later and write a post that has all of the mushy emotions and sentiment that I'm feeling about this whole IVF process on this, the first day after our retrieval. But at this point I think it best for my own sanity to go ahead and write with a sense of humor about this whole f'ing thing.
I got a prescription for narcotics today. Yes, I broke down and called Dr. Z about the horrific amount of pain I'm having in my lady regions and the alarming sensation of ripping every time I urinate.
It's Friday, I'm worried about the weekend. So I call the office and they put Dr. Z on the phone when I say words like "shaking on the toilet" and "tears of panic streaming down my face". Poetic. So Dr. Z calms me down with a reassuring "you've been through things like this before, I don't think anything horrible is happening, just some stretching and ripping of your [insides]" (I inserted the word insides because it doesn't really matter what Dr. Z actually said right then, what he and I both know is that there is stretching and ripping of my INSIDES!)
So I tell him I took some tylenol cuz that's what he said I could take after the retrieval and he kinda giggled in a way and said I should take some tylenol with codeine. So I cutely asked if I can get that over the counter. ... I will be picking up percocet this evening at my pharmacy. It may have to be vicodin cuz I think him faxing in a script for percocet won't fly... but vicodin is still pretty.
I did my motherly duties and asked if this would affect the cycle and would it be bad for our hypothetical future baby and such. He said no, as long as I'm not on narcotics after the transfer. Check.
For the remainder of the day I sat on my desk chair with my legs out stretched, my skirt hiked up just below by boobs and a really pretty "come talk to me I'm super personable right now" look on my face. I wanted nothing more than to burn that mother down. But I stayed. I sat there, I finished *most* of my work and then promptly waddled out of the building as soon as possible. I had to get home to have my husband stab me with a needle full of OIL.
Ps- for those who are there, WTF is up with the PIO shot?!?! Evil. It's all cute and nice at first, not too painful...and then BAM. The next morning your limping around your office like you got sucker punched in the ass 86 times.
So after we got the call today that 7 were remaining- one egg had just died- didn't make it to the fertilization stage and 9 weren't showing any signs of fertilization...coming home to do another shot felt extra bitter. I know, 7 is a good thing. I know this. Believe me. Don't be mad at me. I just was hoping for more at this stage. I think the hardest part was when the embryologist lady said that by Sunday (day 3) we'll know more, she's not looking at them again until then, and that usually 30% of those that make it to day three actually make it to day 5. Hmm...let's look at the odds there. 7 at day 1. Hopefully but maybe not all of those make it to day 3. And only 30% of THOSE make it to day 5. But we're doing a day 5 transfer still. That's a good thing.
Oh man, the sefl-pity came out. Again. I'm trying here, but I just want to relay what's in my head. What I went through today.
Honestly, I'm just glad B hasn't moved out. You should have seen the look in my eye when he was prepping that needle. I could have burned a hole right through him. And then of course it was a bleeder, so I'm all bossy and angry and making him get band-aids so I don't bleed on the couch, and yuck. I'm a hot mess right now. (I inserted hot because I need a little something here, throw me an f'ing bone).
Seriously, 7 is still really good. We've got great hope there. Keep growing and dividing and doing all of the things that good little embryos do, 7! Our little seven.