Because I am known for being a font of wisdom for my nineteens of readers, I will share with you all a little secret about surgery, concerning the worst part of it all. It’s not the anxiety, the loopy drugs, the excruciating pain, the torturous sound of the IV drip, etc. No, none of that.
It’s the fact that you can’t drink any WATER after midnight the night before. Holy schnikeys! I keep forgetting this part until it’s that evening, and I’m sucking down water like a camel up until 11:59, and then poof, nothing. Even though I normally eschew water drinking, suddenly the thirst is overwhelming. Mouth parched. Tongue stuck to roof of mouth. The next morning I wake up feeling like I’m getting over a bender from the night before, or like a deer at a salt lick.
Anyway, after this illustrious start to the day, I head to Portland and to ORM, with my required ride being provided by Kim, because they tell you that you cannot leave after surgery by yourself. Something about drugged up people driving themselves home, meh. This sucks because I’m always fine, but so be it. Once at ORM, I’m disappointed that they did NOT decorate for me this time, but I’ll overlook it this once. I’m sent off to my pre-surgery room, where I’m greeted by the Nicest Person in the Entire World, aka Toni my nurse. Seriously, she’s that nice. Asking me if I need anything (no water though, dammit!), offering to dim the lights, lower or raise the shades, etc. It occurs to me that I’m getting this kind of treatment because Toni realizes Who I Am, and thus it all makes sense, this extra level of solicitousness. Of course. Fame does have its perks.
She even has options as far as putting the IV in.
Toni: I can offer you two options as far the IV is concerned.
Alas, no drugs, just different places to put it, but it was worth a shot. Even more amazing, the Most Awesome Anesthesiologist Dr. M. comes in, and he does NOT give me a hard time about not wanting more drugs!
Me: So, I don’t want any Versed. You see I ha…
Okay, then! We’re batting two for two here, and then Dr. Hesla comes in.
Dr. H.: Okay, ready for surgery?
Me: Yes, and Dr. B. told you we need to get 15 eggs this time, right?
Dr. H.: Heh heh.
Me: I have total faith in you. No pressure.
Dr. H., holding out his steady hands: Nerves of steel here.
Me, beaming: Excellent. That’ll help you with the 15. I have 100% utmost faith in you that you can overcome past shortcomings and achieve egg greatness today. No pressure of course.
See, this is why my doctors love me so – I push them to achieve their best ALL the time. Most people don’t do that, but as we all know, I strive for perfection in all areas of my life: they don’t call me Tasha the TriathlonJamCycling Goddess for nothing.
After this trifecta of awesomeness, I head to the operating room, hop on the table, and proceed to have poison sent into my veins. Seriously! Okay, maybe not really, but it seemed that way.
Me: So we’re going to get 15 eggs today, Dr. B. promis……ow ow ow ow ow! My arm! It’s BURNING!
Toni: That’s the propofol, sorry about that.
Me: IT BURNS! Owwww!
Dr. M.: I can give you some Versed?
Me: No, because while I’m being annoying right now, at least I’ll remember being annoying, whereas if you give me the Versed I’ll still be annoying but I won’t remember it which will be a million times worse.
At least that’s what I meant to say, but I think I dozed off somewhere in the middle. That’s the kind of bravery I’m known for, folks – when the going gets tough, I fall asleep. I highly recommend it.
Post-surgery, I’m woken up to the exciting news that I have….13 eggs! Whee! Way to go Dr. H! See, this is why I encourage him. I’m sure next time he’ll do even better.
As I’m being lovingly shown on my way, with the usual hugs and tears and Christmas card list promises, something odd happens, which took me a while to figure out. There I am chit-chatting with Toni, when suddenly she starts maneuvering me towards the door out.
Me: Which way do I go?
Suddenly I find myself in a long hallway with 2 paths, and I take the one that I presume will take me to the exit. At this rate I could have driven myself here and then home, so this seems….odd. But then, I recall that just before I was ushered out, a (stupid) man appeared in the hallway, this being the first time I had seen anyone else other than medical people in the surgical hallways of ORM. Aha! He seemed to have unceremoniously barged out of one of the other pre-surgery rooms to ask some (stupid) question. Clearly, Toni was concerned with maintaining at all costs the privacy of a Famous Person such as myself, and had to pull the hustle maneuver to make sure my name and face didn’t suddenly wind up all over the internet. It all makes perfect sense now.
Day after surgery
I find out that out of my 13 glorious eggs, 8 were mature and FIVE fertilized! So, one more than last time. I’ll take it.
5 days after surgery
Today I get the call from the lab telling me that FOUR out of my five embies are still growing! FOUR! This, compared to just my one lone wolf BFU last time. Even the embryologist is “cautiously optimistic.” They’ll call me tomorrow to let me know how many have gone to the blastocyst stage. Me, of course I start planning my future hockey team out of these slacker embies. Four this time plus BFU makes up my team, so I’ll need to do one more IVF cycle to get the goalie. Of course, all goalies are known to be crazy, so I might have to rethink that. Hmm. Decisions, decisions……..
Next up: No, I won’t create artificial suspense and a cliffhanger, since I already know the outcome: none of my little slacker embies made it to blast. I am crushed. But, onward.