Tuesday was a really tough morning for me. As cool as I had been about having my eggs sucked out of my lady parts, Tuesday morning I lost all my nerve. The last thing I wanted to have done to me Tuesday morning was to have this procedure. I was even more less than thrilled when the cute little nurses' aid pulled me into the surgical suite bathroom so I could change into a hospital gown, booties and a hair net.
It was bad enough that I was about to be violated, but on top of it all it was going to happen in an ill fitting gown and ridiculous hat! It was just too much...
The last time I had any sort of procedure done, my oral surgeon had been kind enough to put me on nerve pills. But nerve pills are probably not good for ovaries or the follicles that live in them so I didn't dare ask. But suddenly I couldn't stop my legs from shaking. I could not speak in a normal sounding voice because I was surely going to burst out into tears at any second. The lady on the other side of the curtain was recovering from some sort of surgery and was moaning... loudly. I kept thinking, in a little bit, that is going to be me... miserable and in pain.
Then it was time. They had the Husband go back to the waiting room. The nurse had me by the hand and we were heading to the cold room where all the action was going to happen.
They had me lie down. They hung the IV bag and started injecting the medicine that would make me sleep. At that moment I looked down and saw the white medicine being injected and my mind went right to Michael Jackson and I started to laugh. The nurse said, "Oh, don't cry" and I replied, "I'm not cryinging, I'm laughing."
And then I was back in the recovery area. The Husband was there and the nurse was asking me to drink apple juice and I felt so reliefed that it was over. I felt surprisingly good... like I had slept for days and all of a sudden I was talking about Michael Jackson. I completely understand why he had Dr. Murray hook him up with all those IV medications. They are good stuff.
Sure I was a little crampy and my mouth was completely dry... but things were looking up. I no longer had the ridiculous hair net on and I was finished with the procedure. Woo Hoo!
According to the husband I did a lot of talking... I remember talking about Michael Jackson and possibly Whitney Houston. But I defiantely remember asking about how many eggs we harvested. No one could tell me at first. The nurse I came back and told me 18. Somewhere along the way they must have miscounted because when the lab called the number grew to 20.
But 18 or 20 I was thrilled. Thrilled that it was over... thrilled that I lived... thrilled that I wasn't laying in a bed moaning and groaning like that other lady.
On Wednesday, when the lab called and confirmed that it was 20 eggs, not 18, they also confirmed that all 20 were mature and all but one fertilized. In my shock, I didn't ask how they fertilized them. I didn't ask why I was told 18 and not 20 and I certainly didn't ask what all this meant. Of course, now I'm full of questions and of course, we are back to our waiting game. Tomorrow is a tentative transfer. Because things were looking positive, we may be pushed to a Sunday transfer and that is fine with me.
I'm a little overstimulated from all the medication and the super-ovulation... so I'd like a couple more days to deflate, drink the Gatorade and rest... sounds like a plan.
And I sure to do love a good plan.
Take it easy Y'all...
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