We few, we happy few

Not to violate all sorts of narrative conventions (i.e. leave your reader in gripped suspense to the end)- but I'll tell you straight out. I phoned the clinic this morning, and we have four embryos. Typically, I was unable to get any information whatsoever as to how they were doing, or for that matter, anything else. But at least it's something. Transfer will be scheduled for Monday morning, assuming that at least one of the intrepid foursome survives the weekend.

Just to rewind a little to give you a bit more backstory- Wednesday's scan revealed approximately fourteen follicles, mostly on the left. There was one ginormous follicle on the right, so much bigger than the others that it prompted me to mutter under my breath, "Jeez. Who ate all the pies?"

But given that there were though to be enough above 17 mm to bring me within the retrieval range, I was dispatched with instructions to trigger at 7pm. Which I did, after phoning that evening to confirm that my E2 had shot up to 17,000 (4,600 American). E. sat in the bath watching me while I stuck the needle in my beleagued tummy, the shot being another simple sub-cutaneous job. One thing I will say about doing an IVF cycle at this particular clinic, it's relatively scary-needle free. It's like "IVF Lite".

I felt a bit unpleasant afterwards, as if someone had pumped my abdomen full of air. Fortunately, as I had taken a couple days off work, the waddling about could be kept to a minimum. Oh, and before I forget, I have to tell you about the other major side effect I noticed throughout the Gonal-F fest- extreme absent-mindedness. I would perform some task, and then fifteen minutes later be totally unable to remember what I had done (or not done). It got so bad toward the end that I actually had to leave myself notes around the house to do certain things- such as turning off the lights and locking the door on my way out to the OC.

Friday morning we trundled into the OC for retrieval at 7.30 am- me completely barefaced (as per instructions) in my fat pants and big furry wooly socks (thanks for the tip, Jen Vintage- absolutely essential item). There were two other retrievals before us, the clinic suddenly having become busier than the Heathrow airport runway, so after having a quick chat with the rather dishy anesthestist, we were sent upstairs to a room to wait. I was handed an attractive paper gown, furry pink robe, and a pair of strange plastic slippers to change into, and E. was handed his sample cup. Fun for all. We ended up waiting for over an hour, mindlessly watching early morning talk shows while I tried not to gnaw off my left hand in impatience.

Dr Billy Flynn popped in for a chat. Nice of him to drop in, considering this was the first time I had seen or spoken with him since our initial consultation. He patted me on the shoulder a few times and wittered on endlessly about what a great roll he was on these days, knocking up countless women one after another. I don't know about you, but hearing how successful others have been recently doesn't really uplift me, somehow- rather, it scares the beejesus that I am going to be the one to jinx it. The proverbial Jonah on board. Undeterred, he continued talking about what would happen at transfer on Monday, assuming we made it that far.

I asked about bed rest after transfer, and he assured me that I should take it easy but could carry on normally.

"Just don't go off climbing mountains or anything," Dr Flynn guffawed. "Some people do, though- more fool them- like a woman I had the other week. Transfer on Friday, up three hills on Sunday. What a stupid bitch."

I sat there in my furry pink robe, trying to prop my jaw up with my left hand. Did he actually just say what I think he said? Yes. He had. He had just called one of his patients a "stupid bitch".

AAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!

He then proceeded to tell us that the reason we were delayed was because the couple before us had been hindered by the husband's inability to hold up his end of the bargain.

"Though holding UP might not be the right word for it. HAHAHAHA," Dr Flynn laughed. I saw E. eye his own sample cup in horror. Good grief, whatever happened to putting your patients at ease.

At this point it was a little too late to flee the building, and I was summarily marched downstairs to the theatre. As an aside, one thing I do love about living here is how they call operating rooms "theatres". It makes it sound rather glamorous, dahlink. There was a brief skirmish about whether I was allowed to keep on my fuzzy socks (I was) before my legs were fastened to the stirrups with some sort of soft slip on elasticated bands. Meanwhile, the lovely anesthestist gently put the IV into my hand after giving me a local to minimise the pain. As he was doing this, he asked me about my job, and when I told him, he proceeded to ask me a very bizarre question. I can't tell you what it is he asked without giving my profession away. But let's just say that if I was an accountant by trade, he wanted to know about the rate of income tax payable in Papua New Guinea. I can only assume he was doing it to distract me, because otherwise, EH?!

Last thing I remember is the feeling of the fan blowing a gentle breeze over my nethers, and Dr Billy Flynn leaning over me. Then, nothing. I dimly recall waking up in a bed being wheeled back up to the room, and the nurse telling me that we got seven eggs. Then there is another big gap in my memory banks for a time. Dr Flynn came by again, to explain that despite great hopes, the left ovary had only yielded four eggs in the end, the ultrasound being very "hazy". Whatever that means.

I felt distinctly yucky for a large portion of yesterday, and my innards felt exactly as if someone had wrung my ovaries like a dishcloth. Sedation usually tends to make me maudlin, and as you know, the outcome was not quite as I had hoped. I know it is quality over quantity, and I am so grateful to those of you who reminded me of that fact. The nice thing about quantity though is that, at least on the face of it, it provides a margin for error. And right now, a slightly bigger buffer zone between me and total failure would be a considerable comfort.

Still, four. Four is something. Now we just have to wait it out until Monday morning, and hope at that point there is still something to put back. I wish I may, I wish I might.

Comments

[InSpring]

Mare,

Uggh all of this is so difficult, having a doctor who lacks bedside manner doesn't make it easier but should have no effect on the ultimate outcome.

Thinking about you and wishing good thoughts for the fighting four.

[Tertia]

Four. 10 would have been divine but four is good, we can work with four.

Um, just dont put all four back - no matter what, ok? Trust me on this.

Wishing you LOTS of luck, got all my bits crossed for you.

big smooch

xxx

[MsPrufrock]

Sorry, I'm still lingering on the "stupid bitch" comment...

Best of luck.

[Thalia]

I think there is some recruiting drive in Medical School. Don't like people? Don't enjoy communicating? No empathy? Then a career in reproductive endocrinology, or gynaecology is for you! Humiliate 1000s of women in your career! Reduce strong men to quivering pulp! And earn pots of money while you do it.

You can tell I'm a little cynical today. But yaay for your four embryos. Sounds good to me, I hope they look even better on Monday.

[Amanda]

Ok, this is kind of freaky. I had 7 eggs retrieved and 4 embryos this cycle, too. I also started out with a lot more follicles in the beginning. Anyway, I am keeping everything crossed that those four are looking stellar come transfer day. Good luck!

[alex]

Grow little eggs..grow. Your ER sounds sounds so lovely. I have not seen mine since May. He will be at retrieval on the 25th. Nice.

Thinking of your swiss cheese innards and hoping for some relief for you. Really crossing the fingers for the Fab Four.

[Anna H.]

There is so much love winging its way to that petri dish...

xxoo

[anotherjen]

all my best thoughts are with your 4 embryos

[Emily]

My mouth is still agape from your doctor's comments. He sounds exactly like Dr. Bush. Maybe he has a brother, gah!

Four. Four is good. I'm praying for you.

xxoo,

[zhl]

Four has been my lucky number for years. I'd be happy to loan it to you for a while.

[Julie]

Wow - what finishing school did your doctor go to?

Four is a great number! You, your darling husband and those little embies are in my prayers. I hope you have an easy transfer.

[Pamplemousse]

They teach those anaesthetists "Small Talk Lessons" in medical school to distract you from what they are doing! It works too!

I take it you will be putting the best 2 back on Monday. Thinking all the best thoughts and sending them your way.

PS Look on the bright side. No more shots or sniffing!

No mountain-climbing for you this weekend too. I do admire Dr Billy for that kind of candour! Sounds like my kind of doctor.

[Cathy]

REs. Need I say more?

Mare, I am DYING to know what it is that you do.

And while I ponder these topics, please know I'm sending you all the good thoughts in the world. BTW, one of my real-life friends only got three eggs that turned into just one embryo, but that one is her daughter now. I would have gone for that result over my result of dozens of eggs and solid numbers of embryos but ultimately no pregancy. I hope you are of her school of doing things! (I do, however, understand the more relaxed feeling that would come from having more embryos--I know my friend was totally stressed having just one.)

Anyway, I'm saying this for reassurance purposes, but most important, I wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you and sending you my best wishes.

[LEB]

Gaping at Dr Billy - not sure whether to be horrified or impressed.

Hoping for a couple of great ones to transfer on Monday & a couple to freeze.

[J]

I'm sorry you're disappointed, Mare, and I'm astounded by your doctor! I agree with the other posters here, though -- four is good. You also now know that your eggs and E.'s sperm can successfully fertilize and create a little spark of life. I know that's not the whole ballgame, by far -- but I think that's an important hurdle for us unexplained gals. Grow, little sparks, grow!

[Jen]

Thinking the very very very best of thoughts for your Fighting Four, and wondering when I might be able to come over and give Dr. Billy a firm kick in the knees and/or nether regions.

Crossing all for you, my dear.

[Heidi]

Good luck, Mare. May the "four" be with you. (Sorry. Lame, but couldn't resist.) Crossing it all for you, Heidi

[Dead Bug]

Thinking of you and your four and your poor, mangled innards. My first retrieval was beastly that way--and, my god, did it ever hurt to pee.

--Bugs

[JenuteHasANewBlog]

Um, yeah. I'm still trying to get past the "bitch" comment. WTF? Four is great, Mare. No worries. Glad the socks worked out.

[Panda]

OMG you have four. Thats *good*. Its four more than you had last week, right?

I will keep everything crossed for you, and even pray to my Fertility Cooter on your behalf.

[patricia]

Four's good, better than three,. I'll have to come up with a few quad set of names. Like Ryan, Rebecca, Romeo, and Ricardo,

[cass]

At the stupid pre-injectables class at the clinic the other day, the nurse told us a story about a woman who had quads and how, since they're always referred to as Baby A, B, C, and D in utero ended up naming them something like Adam, Brian, Calvin, and Dylan (or something). Not sure what the point of the story was, but I'll be thinking magical thoughts for your ABCD team!

[Reprogirl]

I am crossing my fingers as hard as I can for your quadruplets.

[Kinneret]

Hoping for good news tomorrow. Good luck!

[Meg]

I'm really unnerved by your Dr he sounds like some sort of mysoginist(sp?).
I think we triggered and went under at the same time. Four is a good number, wishing you all the best, can't wait for an update.