Went for blood and ultrasound on Tuesday. Four follicles (12, 12, 10, 10). Breathed a sigh of relief. Four is better than two. Reminded myself not to let in too much hope. Committee of Assholes (the voices in my head) reminded me that good things just don’t happen for us in the fertility department. Named the follicles with our four favourite names.
The bloodwork fun continues until I surge. I have track marks. And a sweet ass bruise on one arm. I wonder if any of my drug addict clients notice. I think about my new found comfort level with needles (self-injected or otherwise) and ponder banging some oxycontin or some crack if this cycle doesn’t work. My drug using clients seem to have no problem getting pregnant. Maybe being stoned is this ultimate in “just relaxing”. I’m kidding…. mostly.
Trek to the clinic again. (The lovely (new) nurse asked me on Tuesday if I had any big plans for the weekend — I looked at her and said, “Coming here. Every. Single. Day.”) Had another ultrasound to see how things are cooking. Seven follicles. Seven! I don’t have that many baby names. Two are smallish, so they might not push on through. But SEVEN! I sit down with the nurse to ask her a question about LH surges vs. HCG shots (I’m a good surger, if you were wondering. I know you were.) and she thinks I’m worried about ovulating 7 follicles. The one thing I love about this clinic, is that they aren’t afraid to take risks. (They are one of the few clinics who will work with HIV positive patients to produce healthy pregnancies.) She said that most would criticize Dr. M. for going forward with an IUI with so many follicles, but realistically, I’ve never been able to get pregnant and I’ve been at this for a long time. So going forward with 7 follicles is worth a shot. I informed her that I had no problem with selective reduction if it meant being able to have a healthy baby. My husband chirped from the background “Why don’t we just worry about getting pregnant first”.
We drive home and talk about lucky sevens. 7th IUI, 7 follicles. I ask my husband if he can please come up with 7 million spermies. Or 77 million.
I have no illusions about this cycle. It’s different, but I’m not allowing myself to be too hopeful right now. I can’t. Self-preservation is all I have.