We started a round of IVF today. Cycle Day 3. I had scans to check the follicles in my ovaries (five in the right, ten in the left) and bloods to check FSH, AMH and estrogeon. It was intimidating. I’ve never been in this situation before. Legs up in the air, wand up my hooha and my doctor is casually telling me how beautiful my uterine lining is. Beautiful, beautiful lining, apparently.
I’m getting the hang of it now. We do a scan, and then shuffle next door into her glorious office for a chat. I was shocked to learn that if my FSH was over 15 we wouldn’t go ahead with the IVF. They’d call me, if it was too high. My doctor thinks it’s unlikely that it will and based on my previous levels we’ll go ahead for now.
Then came a lesson in self medicating. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t jab myself with a syringe, no matter how much I talked myself into it. I just couldn’t. It was such a mind fuck. I did try. For twenty minutes a nurse and I sat in a little cubicle, syringe in one hand, my belly bunched in the other. I was so upset – I’d start fast and by the end I’d stop just as the needle was touching my skin. It seems impossible and ridiculous and oh. I’ve never felt less capable than I did in that moment. I’m a determined person and I don’t like to admit failure. I was furious with myself and stubbornly kept trying.
In the end the nurse gently took the syringe and did it for me. Just like that, we’ve started. Zee has offered to take over the medication giving and I’ve grateful that I’m not doing this alone. I love him.
I carted a ridiculous amount of medication (boxes and boxes of it) on the tube home, which was a bizarre feeling. If I’ve carried thousands of pounds worth of drugs through the tube, I wonder what other people carry?. My fridge looks ridiculous – there is a whole shelf of medication.
So, I have a plan with medication amounts and times and a million scans booked in. IVF, it’s happening you guys.