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Archive for February, 2009

Now I'm annoyed

Have now left a voicemail message and sent an email re: the little blastocysts that weren’t. Am 100% certain nothing was frozen because I would have gotten a call from the financial folks telling me to pay up. However, I would have liked to have had a phone call telling me either way. Still have heard nothing. This is extraordinarily unusual for my clinic – you all know how highly I think of them. But I am annoyed. And since I have nothing better to focus on right now, I will focus on this particular annoyance right now. Because I can.

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still no word…

…from SuperNurse.

If she’s not careful, her pseudonym may be changed again to “nurse-doesn’t-return-my-emails-anymore-so-see-if-I-ever-bring-YOU-triple-chocolate-brownies-ever-again-so-there!”

Look, it’s not like I actually think anything DID get frozen. It’s that, you know, they were MY little blastocysts. I’d like to KNOW if they just got thrown in a biohazard disposal unit. Is that so much to ask?

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A Fair Question

Anonymous asks, re: my post about PIO counteracting my Allegra…

Could you actually be allergic to the PIO?

I could be, sure. But it’s unlikely. I’m not displaying symptoms in a way that would suggest that. First, my allergies are at their worst when I’m in my house. Around my cats. Coincidence? I think not! Second, if I had an allergy to the PIO, it is unlikely that it would come across with symptoms similar to seasonal and cat allergies.

More likely, I’d be reacting to the sesame oil. But, though I don’t care for sesame a great deal, I’ve never had a reaction to sesame in anything. But if I were to have a reaction to the sesame, I’d probably have an on-site reaction at the injection-site first. It would be itchy, possibly red and swollen. If it were a terrribly bad reaction, I imagine I could even have a systemic, anaphylactic reaction. But – thank heavens, I am not allergic to sesame.

As for the progesterone … according to the all-mighty pharmacist in my household, the progesterone in the PIO is derived from potatoes. Or yams or something. I don’t know, I’d like to say I was hanging on his every word, but something about it’s easier to derive from a plant substance than to weasel it out of a human being or whatever. So, unlikely that I’m having an allergic reaction to that either, unless there was some kind of impurity in it from the manufacturing process, but that’s unlikely, and again – the symptoms I’m having are unlikely to be the result of this kind of allergy.

Now, there is some evidence of estrogen and progesterone allergies, but those are with naturally occurring estrogen and progesterone – and those “allergies” are linked with menstrual-cycle-related asthma and migraines. Neither of which I have (I do have migraines, but mine have no relationship to my menstrual cycle whatsoever).

Dr. Beer suggests that there is evidence of a progesterone allergy, stating: Some autoimmune women develop allergies to their own hormones, including progesterone. The antibody which they have produced can be detected by looking for progesterone antibodies in the blood or by doing a skin test that shows the allergy to progesterone. These antibodies further decrease the levels of progesterone in the blood. The cells responsible for this are the CD 19+5+ cells. By 10 weeks of pregnancy these cells are usually suppressed to normal numbers and the progesterone allergy is less of a problem.

But, again, there’s no suggestion that this should, say, make me sneeze.

Truthfully, it could just all be coincidental. But I think there *might* be a relationship. When I was pregnant, my Allegra all-out stopped working and I was miserable for months until *boom* it started working again. And I know that “they” say when you’re pregnant, allergies are often exacerbated. So I suspect that there is *some* correlation between the worsening of my allergy symptoms and the high levels of progesterone in my system right now. My guess is that the Allegra just isn’t able to counterbalance it right now.

That’s my theory anyway. And we all know my theory is worth exactly what you paid for it.

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I found an excuse to bug my nurse for the cryo report. For the sake of shalom bayis I must know the disposition of those struggling little blastocysts! Honest! For those of you who don’t want to click on the link, shalom bayis is literally “peace in the home” – it is the concept of peace and harmony in the household and good relations between husband and wife. In this case, I realized that if there was anything to freeze (again, I think not), then I’m likely to get nailed with ~$1500 bill for freezing and storage (it’s a little less, but just go with me, okay? And actually, it it was just one, it’s significantly less). A girl’s gotta prepare her husband for a bill like that, right?

So, for the sake of domestic tranquility, I emailed SuperNurse and said, you know, I hate to be nosy and all, but does she know the disposition of my struggling little life forms? And really, she wouldn’t want our marriage to be in jeopardy, right? It’s for the sake of our marriage! Plus, after all, enquiring minds want to know! This is front page news! Sort of.

Okay, not remotely, but I’m sure all of you are clamoring to know. Right? RIGHT?

Ahem. All righty then. So it’s just ME that wants to know. Yet another way for me to pass the time. The endless, boring time stretched before me. Another eight, looooooooong days before my beta. With nothing to do but sit here and whine, complain, bitch, blither to you about the mundanity of life when there is absolutely nothing interesting going on in my life. Absolutely nothing worth blogging about.

Nothing to see here, move along. Move along.

Oh! Hey! If there was *nothing* to freeze, maybe I can convince the man that since he just saved $1500 buckeroos, he should take me out to dinner next week to celebrate! Or, um, to console me in my um, sadness. That’s right. Because I’ll be all sad that we won’t have anything to save and therefore won’t have to pay out of pocket for freezing, storage and FETs that the insurance won’t cover… Yeah. Sad. That’s right.

(ooh! And Score! I totally bought a pile of HPTs. They should arrive on my doorstep tomorrow or the next day! They aren’t my beloved FRER’s, but I’m a girl on a budget now. And this should support my habit for at least a little while, right? Just, um, don’t tell my husband, okay? Oh for crying out loud, honey, they cost LESS THAN A DOLLAR EACH! And, no, I did not buy 300 of them. Just 297… KIDDING!)

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4dp6dt

bored now.

very proud of myself for not having purchased any HPTs yet. Not that they’d show anything, but you’ve gotta have them ready, right?

Bored.

Really, really, really done with this 2ww stuff.

Every one of my previous cycles I always had in my back pocket my exit strategy. So the 2ww never bothered me. I always knew that the cycle hadn’t worked (yes, I’m a negative nelly), so I was just twiddling my thumbs until the next CD3. I was completely surprised the two times it did work (and completely pissed off at the miscarriage the first time). But I always had the exit strategy: CD3, back to the clinic, start stims, keep going.

But I actually don’t exactly know what happens this time. PIO will keep CD3 from happening, so until I come off of it… no cycle start. And even if I do, what then? I don’t know if there was anything to freeze (I think not), so which is it, fresh or FET? Let’s assume fresh. If fresh, then what? I know you can’t move straight into another fresh cycle, but what does that mean? Does that mean straight to BCPs? Or does that mean waiting a month before BCPs? This is the missing piece of the puzzle piece for me. I think it means straight to BCPs. So 21 days of BCPs, Lupron on Day 19. Lupron Eval. on CD 2 or 3. Start Stims if it’s a go. I think. And I know SuperDoc said that this go around we’d be increasing my Follistim by 100IUs to start.

So is that the plan? I need a plan! I *always* have a plan, and right now, I’m a girl without a plan! This is not okay!

I *could* just make an appointment with SuperDoc to discuss said plan, but: 1. odds are good I won’t be able to get a consult appointment with him before my beta anyway, and 2. if I did, I’d feel ridiculous demanding a plan before I even get to a beta and then end up with a positive beta, as happened last time.

This is my fault. Normally I ask what my exit strategy is ahead of time – but I forgot that it’s all different now.

Now, see, I never used to be high maintenance. And then I went and had this super-high-risk, HOM pregnancy. And I *hated* to be a bother, but they put me on all this home-monitoring stuff and make me talk to a nurse three times a day and hauled me into the office twice a week and put me into the hospital a few times and, well… I learned how to be high maintenance, you see. And now?? I’m really good at it. So I blame the medical field for this. It’s all their fault.

Anyway, I’m not actually going to be high maintenance to them – I’m just going to be high maintenance here in my head. Oh wait, I’m typing all this out loud, aren’t I. Okay, fine. I’m going to be high maintenance publicly, to the blogosphere. But no one twisted your arm, put a gun to your head and forced you to read this blog. So, really? You asked for it!

Did I mention I’m bored?

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I swear, I am convinced that PIO makes my Allegra stop working. I cannot breathe, my eyes are all itchy, I’m sniffly, I’m stuffy, I’m teary-eyed, I’m sneezy, I’m ucky, I’m whiny (okay, that has nothing to do with Allegra except that when I feel this way, I get whiny). It’s like I have no allergy medicine on board. It’s as though the progesterone totally inactivates the Allegra. It’s completely ridiculous.

I cannot find appropriate google terms to bring my theory to life, but allergies can be aggravated during pregnancy – though this seems to be a phenomenon that is most severe in late pregnancy (29-36 weeks) so my bet is taking a few PIO shots is not the culprit. But, um. I still say the PIO is to blame. Because what else am I going to blame?

And I am getting too many darned migraines, which I know is the fault of the progesterone. And my screwed up body. Thanks for nothing.

And just think? If I get pregnant (hah!) I can stay on this stuff for EVER!

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No Cryo Report

I didn’t hear whether there was anything to freeze. I wasn’t surprised not to hear over the weekend, but I figured my nurse would call today. I didn’t want to bother her with a phone call – Mondays are busy days (understandably).

But…

You know…

I mean…

It’d be nice to know.

Frankly, it sounds crazy but I’m half of a mind that I’d prefer there wasn’t anything to freeze. Because…

1. if this cycle works (hah!)… well, then I don’t have to worry about paying storage fees or worry about what to do if we decide we’re done family building now. It’s just done.

2. If this cycle doesn’t work, I’d prefer to move on to a fresh cycle anyway. Let’s face it, these embryos were slow-growing crappy embryos. I mean, I *love* them, and they’re perfect in my eyes (just for the record should my future children ever read these posts… AHEM), but you know, they weren’t optimal. Furthermore, my insurance doesn’t cover FETs, which is phenomenally stupid. So it would actually cost me more to do an FET than a fresh cycle. Plus, if there was, say, only one that made it to freeze, what are the odds that it survives the thaw? Yeah.

I’ll call tomorrow and ask. I just *hate* calling for something this unimportant. I know they’re busy and it’s not like this is time sensitive information. I can certainly wait until the next time I have to talk to my nurse for some other reason and ask her then. But I’d like to know. But, I could wait, right? Of course right. So what to do. Sigh. I know I’m a client. I know I pay a lot of money for a service. And calling them for one tiny piece of information shouldn’t be a huge imposition. I just hate being a pain in the ass patient, so I try to avoid being one. And, um, I fail miserably at it.

But, you know, there’s not much else to do in this ridiculous 2ww. Ladeedaa…

I had a HIGH-LARIOUS conversation today with Barren about how long I’m likely to hold out before POAS. I’d share it with you, but my husband already thinks I’m psychotic when it comes to the whole POAS topic. Plus, J (Marketing Supervisor Extraordinaire) might rat me out to SuperDoc and tell them I’m planning on cheating.

Not that I’m planning to, mind you. I’m planning on holding out until the beta on the 18th. But hello??? You all know me, right? Of course right. There is SO no way I’m holding out that long. I can’t believe I haven’t already POAS’d. Puh-lease.

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Okay, I’ve stayed pretty quiet on the octuplet-story for a reason. The whole thing ticks me off, but, it’s kind of cliche to say so, isn’t it? I mean, it’s OBVIOUS that it ticks me off, right? I mean, I put myself out there ON TELEVISION for my clinic because it ticks me off so much. Hello? My neighbors could have found out that I’m in the middle of an IVF cycle because of this. I do NOT discuss my IVF status with my neighbors! (Fortunately, it aired on a Friday night. Sneaky, I know! Er… though it turned out one of my friend’s nannies saw me on TV and blabbed about it to everyone. Foiled again!)

Anywho!

This is not the point.

So some crazy chick goes and gets herself pregnant with six children. She’s not married (SO WHAT? PEOPLE! Since when is it a pre requisite to be married to be a mother! GET OVER YOURSELVES!) Two of them are twins. At least one is autistic. She’s a student. And then she goes back to her RE, she has, theoretically, six frozen embryos, according to her story, and she tells him to transfer them all. He obliges, for whatever reason, and bada bing, bada boom, against all odds, the gamble she took turns out (according to her) “perfectly” and thirty weeks later, she has octuplets. Unbelievably, she actually has healthy octuplets.

Now here’s what REALLY pisses me off about the whole damn thing.

For the love of PETE, can no reporter in this God-forsaken country figure out that in an IVF or FET cycle a reproductive endocrinologist TRANSFERS embryos? They do not IMPLANT embryos.

Is it so much to ask that they get this one tiny word correct?? Is it so much to ask that with a story this big and destined to be ongoing that we get the terminology correct at long last????? Honestly, the frickin’ New York Times can’t even get the term correct on a regular basis- what has the world come to?

It seems like such a small issue, but it really isn’t. If doctors could implant embryos, it would mean they could guarantee pregnancy. Maybe not ongoing, successful pregnancies, but at least initial pregnancies. This is an important point because the word “implantation” skews the public perception of IVF, fertility patients, and reproductive endocrinologists. It leads people to believe that every time a patient undergoes IVF, if they transfer 2 embryos, they are guaranteed to be pregnant with two babies afterward. This is, of course, far from a guarantee, as you well know. Even with my one blastocyst, I have only a 40% chance of pregnancy – which means a 60% chance of failure. If my doctor could have implanted that blastocyst into my uterine lining, rather than just transferring it to my uterus and letting it float around until it decides whether it will implant, it would have been a 100% guarantee of pregnancy.

As far as I understand, doctors so far haven’t been able to pinpoint what determines whether a particular embryo will or will not implant (though it does seem that high grade embryos have a tendency to implant at a higher rate than lower grade embryos, but that doesn’t mean that low grade embryos never implant – certainly low grade embryos do implant and grow to become healthy babies and there are plenty of high grade embryos that never implant, but no one knows why).

Beyond the implant vs. transfer issue, it just seems that the media is so focused on her unwed status and the fact that she already has six children that it is infuriating. The first question that one of the reporters asked me (that didn’t make it into the televised report, I’m certain because I didn’t give the soundbite they were looking for), was “What do you think of this unmarried mother of six children who just had eight babies out in California?” My answer? I don’t think anything about her since I don’t know her, though I feel for the situation she’s now in and I know she’s got a number of challenges ahead of her, and I’m concerned about what led her to be in this position in the first place.

Am I concerned that her doctor possibly repeatedly did IVF procedures with her involving 6 embryos each time? Yes. I am concerned about it because it far exceeds the standards set by the American Society for Reproductive Medicine/Society for Assisted Reproductive Technology’s standards for embryo transfers for women under the age of 35 (she is 33), which recommend no more than 1 or 2 (preferably 1, when possible) embryos be transferred in an IVF cycle. I am concerned because this mother’s answer is “Those are my children, and that’s what was available, and I used them. So, I took a risk. It’s a gamble. It always is.”

While, yes, the embryos are her property, what about her doctor’s obligation to protect her risks? What about “First, do no harm” as stated in the Hippocratic Oath? I know that there are various ethical and legal issues here. A doctor can’t – and shouldn’t turn away a patient on the basis of “she has six children already, therefore I’m not going to treat her with IVF in order to have one more.” Nor can a doctor withhold her property – her embryos – from her on that basis. No doctor has the right to tell a woman that just because she has six children she is therefore not allowed to have any more children, except under extreme cases where the doctor is concerned about abuse, perhaps drug use, severe psychosis. A doctor refusing to treat a patient must be prepared to offer names of other doctors who may be willing to treat that patient. But just disagreeing with a lifestyle choice to have a big family is not a reason to turn away a patient for treatment.

Certainly, there are people who feel that I shouldn’t have more children. People who feel that I have no right to want, to expect, to try to have more children. And obviously my doctor thinks that I’m completely off my rocker to try to have more. But he never refused me treatment. (He may have called me meshuga a few times, but that’s another story). Only my husband and I have a right to decide when our family is complete. The size of our family isn’t anyone else’s business.

BUT – there’s a line to be drawn. I shouldn’t have a right to force my doctor to do something that is potentially life-threatening. I shouldn’t be able to force my doctor to do something that he believes could compromise the lives of me or the potential babies that could result from treatment. I have heard some arguments and seen some court cases that have argued that, in fact, a patient ultimately has total control over the decisions to be made about what happens with her embryos. But can that be true? Should that be true? I don’t think it should be. Ultimately, I wouldn’t want that to be true, particularly after I’ve completely pumped myself full of hormones and made myself completely irrational. I want my experienced doctor to guide me in my decisions and to look out for my safety and for the safety of my potential children.

A doctor should be able to have some autonomy to be able to say, “No, I will not put your life in danger. I will not transfer six embryos to your uterus, because that will potentially endanger your life.” And, frankly, that’s what her doctor should have done. If what this woman is saying is true – then she had five successful IVF cycles in the past, so there was no medical reason to believe that she needed to have six transferred this time in order to have a chance at success this time.

Many have criticized the mother for not selectively reducing the pregnancy – but I can’t condemn her for that. I can’t and I won’t. Until you’ve walked down that path of decision making – you simply cannot even imagine how difficult it is to even consider such a thing. And I don’t blame her a bit for refusing it.

I just think we’re all focusing on the wrong issues.

Issue 1: Transfer not Implant, people!
Issue 2: Who cares if she’s married?
Issue 3: It is irrelevan
t that she already has six children.
Issue 4: What IS relevant is that she shouldn’t have had the final say in how many embryos got transferred to her uterus. Her DOCTOR should have had that say, and her doctor should have said “absolutely not.”

But really, the most important issue here is that it is a transfer, not an implantation. I’m so sick of hearing “implant” in this news cycle. I almost threw my computer across the room the other day reading the AP news story after the Today show report.

The one good thing I can say for Ms. Suleman is this: She, at least, used the word transfer when speaking to NBC. Even if the damn reporter couldn’t get it right.

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Thumb Twiddling

“So… how’s that bed rest thing going for you, dear?” my husband sarcastically asked me while watching me clean up the living room.

Yeah. Um. So you know, now I totally get why it is that my perinatologist said that if I get pregnant even so much as with twins he’s admitting me to the hospital at 12 weeks. I thought maybe, just maybe, that was a little alarmist, but… no. No, it’s totally on the money, and I get it now. He knows me. He knows me very well. I was an extraordinarily good patient and did everything he told me to do in my last pregnancy, but it would be a physical impossibility this time around, and he knows it. There is just no way. I will absolutely shoot myself if I end up with monozygotic twins.

In other news, progesterone makes me hungry, I think. I am almost never hungry, but twice this weekend, I was suddenly ravenous. But absolutely nothing appealed to me. Sigh.

A bunch of you asked if I had anything good enough to freeze yesterday… I hadn’t said anything about freezing in part because I forgot to, and in part because I actually don’t know. As of yesterday, nothing was there yet, but they just didn’t know yet if anything would make it to freeze. I didn’t get any calls/messages today, so my guess is no. I’ll check with NurseAwesome (whose name, I think, I’m going to change to SuperNurse – I like the parallelism with SuperDoc) on Monday, but … I’m pretty sure the answer is no.

Speaking of your questions – Lori, the answer to your questions are 1. I live two blocks from my synagogue and 2. Yes.

Someone also sent me an email today asking me if I’d mind elaborating about who my clinic actually is – just for the record, if you’re looking for a clinic for treatment, and you’re looking for a referral, etc., I am more than happy to share this information (as was the case with this particular friend). If you’re asking out of plain curiosity, please respect my privacy. I use a pseudonym for the clinics for two reasons – to keep myself as ungoogleable as possible (in real life terms I mean) and also to protect the innocent – I’d hate to be having a bad day, accidentally say something not-nice about my clinic (not that I can imagine doing so, but you never know, right?) and have that be the impression I leave with folks. I have the highest regard for my clinics, the physicians there, the nursing and professional staff, etc. and I am thrilled to be able to refer anyone else to this wonderful clinic as I believe that they provide the highest quality of care available in a caring, compassionate manner with an individualized approach and proven success rates. And no, I’m not on their payroll.

Finally, I am annoyed with a friend. I made my standard remark about how I’d shoot myself if I ended up with monozygotic triplets. But I qualified it by saying that yes, I know the odds are certainly against it. But hello? I had like 5% odds of conceiving HOMs the last time! Heck, that last cycle, SuperDoc didn’t expect me to get pregnant at all. The whole cycle was a disaster that was doomed to fail, and in the eyes of reproductive endocrinologists everywhere, frankly, it did. Which is why when I walked back into SuperDoc’s office, he took one look at me and said, “Okay, so how about that IVF with elective single embryo transfer idea, shall we?” And there was no question that that’s what we’d be doing this go-around. ANYWAY, I made this remark to my friend and she, in her self-righteous way, as usual said, “I don’t know why you didn’t think you’d end up with HOM’s. As soon as you triggered with, what 12 follicles last time, I knew you’d be pregnant with HOM’s.”

Let me tell you something… no one. NO ONE knows what’s going on with my cycles as clearly as my doctors do, including me. Even I don’t have my entire chart with all the associated bloodwork and ultrasounds, etc. laid out in front of me when crucial decisions are being made.

I questioned my doctor’s decision to trigger me that day for nearly two years – you all know this. I went back to his office in January and told him that I couldn’t understand it. That while I love the smiling faces in the nursery that greet me every morning, and I’m grateful for the gifts he gave me, I’m still plagued by that decision he made that day and could he please tell me why, oh why he made that decision. Suffice it to say, I was more than satisfied with his response. It was clear that he had absolutely no reason to believe that I had any significant risk of an HOM pregnancy. In fact, in all of my other cycles, I had been warned whenever I had more than one dominant follicle, that I could have a twin pregnancy as a result. In that cycle, no such warning was presented to me. What I’d been told, quite clearly, was that I had very little chance that any pregnancy would result from that cycle, and we prepared to move on to my IVF cycle immediately.

There is no possibility that I would still be with this doctor at this clinic today if I thought that there had been any recklessness in that decision on that day. Believe me, I never sought to have HOMs. I love them. I can’t imagine my life without them. But it was never my goal, and it most certainly is not my goal to repeat the experience.

It is for this and similar reasons that I choose not to share with the group the logic behind the particular blastocyst that was chosen for transfer. SuperDoc shared with me the grade of the blastocyst that he and the embryologist had chosen, and what the other option had been, and explained why it was the best option. He also explained that he believed with this particular blastocyst, I have, perhaps, a 40% chance of achieving pregnancy (I didn’t ask if by that he meant implantation or ongoing pregnancy – I am not sure I want to know). I don’t wish to share the grade at this time because I find when people do such things that commenters start making their own judgments as to the odds and likelihoods and all that. And I already have a doctor for that and I just don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it, honestly. I have put my trust in my medical team, and that’s where I need to leave it, for otherwise, I will lose my grip on what little sanity I have.

I leave you with a picture of George:


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So this morning was a complete whirlwind and nothing was going right for the first couple hours of the morning (all of which related to things best n0t discussed on an infertility blog), but things eventually calmed down and I was working from home before leaving for my transfer (this was part of what didn’t go as planned – I had planned to be in the office for at least 2 hours before my appointment…). At some point, I looked at the clock and realized I’d been holding my breath all morning. Nine thirty. They would have called by now if everything had tanked and they were going to cancel. I hadn’t even realized that the thought was on my mind.

I set up a document to print at my office and grabbed a bottle of water, a pan of brownies, my keys, and my coat and went on my merry way. I stopped at the office to pick up the document I needed (a little light reading for the waiting room…whee!), and then headed up to Ye Olde Fertility Clinic. I called J, Marketing Supervisor Extraordinaire, as I was pulling into the parking lot. “So I’m early. Do I go upstairs and sit in the waiting room? Or do I bring you a brownie? You wouldn’t want to risk SuperDoc eating them all, would you?”

“You didn’t really bring brownies, did you?”
“J? Of course I did. I told you I was going to, and I always deliver!”

Needless to say, there was brownie delivery prior to waiting room waiting and document review.

And then my moment arrived… I was whisked back in to the transfer room. Asked to recite my name and social security number a few times, told to undress (waist down) and wait for SuperDoc. No problem. Except at some point I realized that my goal of a so-called “moderately full bladder” had, well, been exceeded. But I was good. Really. For a while. But the clock, it kept a-ticking. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 20 minutes… Honestly what was worrying me the most was that they’d pulled out my little beauties and decided that they were all pretty useless after all and were trying to figure out how to break the news to a homicidal hormonal fertility patient. And finally SuperDoc walked in.

“So, did you pick a good one?”
“We might have more than one to choose from, but I know which one we’re going to use.”
“I’m just saying, you know, if you pick a good one, there might be some brownies in it for you, because I know that changes everything for you.”
“Well, in that case, we’ll be sure to pick the very best one. Since we weren’t going to do that anyway.”

We talked for a bit about which embryo he was going to transfer, and why.

He then reviewed the “Embryo Disposition Report.
“Okay, 10 retrieved, 9 fertilized, etc. etc. and we’re transferring 8, sign here.”

I. Lost. It.

I mean, all-out, completely hyperventilating, lost it. I told him I wasn’t signing that piece of paper (which CLEARLY said transferring 1) unless he TOOK THAT BACK. No even JOKING about that! Not with that timing.

“Don’t you remember my reaction when you told me how many heartbeats there were?”
“I think this reaction might be worse!”
“I think you might NOT get brownies!”

I made the embryologist get me a picture to prove there was just one. JUST ONE. (I have the picture, but haven’t been able to scan it yet. Will do so later. I assure you, it’s a cute little blastocyst. Early, and not totally perfect, but perfect enough for me. I mean, honestly, it was just a ploy to *get* a picture, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right?

(By the way, SuperDoc did note my “impressively full” bladder several times on the ultrasound. Rub it in, doc. Rub it in. See if I ever bring you triple-chocolate brownies again.)

I told SuperDoc after the transfer, “I swear to you, if this single blastocyst splits twice and I end up with monozygotic triplets -“
“-I’ll shoot myself,” he finished for me.
“You might have to fight me for it.”
“And if we only have one gun and one bullet, we might have a problem!”

After my allotted period of “rest” my nurse came in and looked at the picture of George (my blastocyst) and said, “Oh look, they transferred both of them! That’s great!” I almost decked her. Watch out there, or I might change your pseudonym from NurseAwesome to… well, something else. She went over my discharge instructions, and took some brownies (which I distributed all around, I took another for J (Marketing Supervisor Extraordinaire), and sent the rest to SuperDoc’s office (see? I don’t hold a grudge!).

I brought a brownie down to J’s office and bid him adieu. “I’m not back here until the 18th! What will I do without you, Marketing Supervisor Extraordinaire?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be emailing.”
“Aren’t you sick of me yet?”
~dramatic pause~
“Of course not!”
(I’m kidding, there was no dramatic pause, but go with me here, it’s more interesting my way, right?)
“Well, maybe I’ll make my appointment for my beta late enough in the morning that I can bring you cookies.”
“Oh no! I don’t know how I can stay friends with you! I’m going to be 400 lbs!”

I’m thinking snickerdoodles… Yeah, ’cause those are low fat. Ahem.

I mean, there is the theoretical possibility that I’ll get pregnant this cycle and he’ll be rid of me. Right? RIGHT?

Yeah. Um. Seriously? I still can’t say that with a straight face.

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