While most people were preparing for a night of Super Bowl parties, booze and dips, I spent most of today preparing for my harvest, technically known as oocyte retrieval or the egg collection.
I started my day with the usual Ganirelix shot:
Then I made my way up to NYU Langone for one of my last days of monitoring. It wasn’t Dr. Noyes today – I guess she has Sundays off. But not to worry, I was in good hands. And cute hands. I had the pleasure of getting my ultrasound by one of the few male fertility fellows. I’m usually fine with male doctors, but I felt very awkward because he was so cute.
My mind started to wander to an imaginary future where me and Dr. What’s-His-Face are telling our friends stories about how we met with me on an examination table, propped up with my legs spread as he investigated the inner workings of my ovaries. I started laughing at the absurdity of it, and as you can imagine (not that you’d want to), laughing is not helpful while a doctor is trying to take precise measurements of follicles with an instrument that looks more like a dildo than a medical device.
Anyway, next, I went and had a healthy breakfast before acupuncture, then I went home to wait for my instructions on the trigger shot. The typical trigger shot is Ovidrel. Ovidrel is an HCG (human chorionic gonadotropin) and it stimulates the release of the egg. But when a woman is at risk of ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (lucky me, I am), it’s actually two injections. Part HCG and part GnRH (Lupron). I get Lupron because it apparently helps quickly reduce estrogen levels post procedure. My instructions were to do both of these shots at 12:30 a.m., then back to the doctor tomorrow morning between 7 and 9 for blood work. The harvest will take place on Tuesday morning at 10:30.
So, for my final shots – the triggers – I dragged my ass out of bed at 12:30, sleep mask still on, and poked myself two final times. I’m quite sad that this is it. I know this is crazy and I’m going to further examine why I’m feeling sad that this process is over; it must be a hormonal thing. Or maybe it really is my version of nesting. Either way, I take comfort in knowing I have nearly 2000 IUs of Follistim left, so if I get really depressed, perhaps I’ll reach for an injection of that instead of a bottle of wine!
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