BFU Watch 2014

So last Friday I went into egg retrieval as usual: with a pan of homemade brownies to give to the nurses, so that they don’t accidentally kill me. Okay, chances of this might be slim, but it’s worked so far with all my surgeries, so why mess with success?

And I knew it would be a great day when I walked in and saw the whole of ORM decorated JUST FOR ME. Oh sure, some people mumbled things about “Halloween” and “always decorate,” but I know the truth.

Anyway, things got off to a great start, when Awesome Nurse started telling me about the procedure and afterward.

AN: …..and then take it easy when you get home, no driving or operating heavy equipment, and no drinking for 48 hours…

Me: Wait, what? What fresh hell is this? It’s going to be a stressful weekend, and I was planning on having a jar of boozy cherries at my side the whole time.

AN: Well…..I don’t…..

Me, firmly: Boozy. Cherries.

AN to Dr. Crankypants: Dr. C, do you think she can do 12 hours instead of 24?

Now, at this point Dr. C. had not yet been christened Dr. Crankypants, but that was because this was all before we had the Versed discussion.

Dr. C: I suppose 12 would work. Now, let’s talk anesthesia.

Me, with my standard directive: No Versed.

Dr. C, nonplussed and stern: What? Why not?

I go into my usual explanation of why I hate the stuff, that in my first surgery I was given it and was thereby deprived of my witty banter, etc. Usually the anesthesiologists accept this willingly, because hey, why give out more drugs than you have to, right? No.

Dr. C: I don’t understand that. You know you’ll still be put under for the surgery, right?

Me, patiently but impatiently: Yes yes, that’s what we want for the surgery. Not beforehand. I don’t want to be awake and not remember it.

Dr. C: As long as you know you’ll be out for the surgery.

Sigh.

We hit our second snag when Dr. Hesla comes in – not my usual doctor, but hopefully he’s been warned. Or not.

Me: So, I know I have 6-9 follicles, but I’d really like to see 13 eggs today, m’kay?

Dr. H: Heh heh.

Me: I think 13 would be a great number. Please make it happen. So it has been spoken and all that.

Dr. H: Uhh, I’m going to go prep now.

Me, cheerily: Remember, 13!

He seemed very eager to go off and prep, or have some brownies, or something.

The surgery goes smoothly, though Dr. Hesla failed in his mission and only got 9 eggs. I shake my head, but there’s just so much I can do. And at least I remembered to ask the important questions afterward.

Me: So…..how do we guarantee that someone won’t be walking along and oops, trip, and there go my eggs?

AN: We have tight security and locks and etc and so on…

Me: That’s great too…..but what about the clumsy people? How do you screen for that?

AN: …..

Me: This has been giving me nightmares, you know. Someone carrying my eggs in one hand, a brownie in the other, then tripping and deciding to save the brownie.

AN: …….

Me: And oh yeah, what happened to Shithead? Did we get rid of him?

AN: Let me ask. (to other nurse) Say, did we get rid of that cyst? You know, Shithead?

Other nurse: Yep, no more Shithead!

 

So I have that going for me.

Kim then drove me to her place, after which I drove home and worked the rest of the day – you know, like self-employed people have to do. Oh, and then since it was Halloween, the girls and I had cocktails and pelted urchin trick-or-treaters with large candy bars, and everyone was happy.

Since then, I have spent the last 5 days highly medicated. And by “medicated” obviously I mean “with a jar of boozy cherries at my side at all times.” I found out the next day that out of my 9 eggs collected, 8 were mature but only 4 fertilized. Grr. But after all I do just need one baby unicorn, right? Then of course that one embie will split into 3, and voila, The Damians! Hey, dream big, right?

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So today I got the call from ORM, updating me on the status of the Fab 4. Of which only one seems willing to go to blastocyst stage, so basically all of my hopes and dreams are now resting on a clump of stubborn cells which have been christened BFU: Badass Fucking Unicorn. BFU is hanging in there, and according to the embryologist is looking “chunky,” which is apparently a good thing in EmbryoLand.

Then if BFU makes it to blast stage tomorrow, a cell will be sent for chromosomal testing. Still a long road ahead, basically. But at least it’s not over……