I am officially hopped up on all my meds. Three injections a night. Eight pills a day, plus some gross liquid supplement CoQ10 at every meal. Monitoring by my doctor begins on Monday. I will see him every other day to see how my follicles are developing. I already feel like a stuck pig. Uncomfortable. Distended.
To add to my discomfort, I have an adorable toddler whose main goal in life is to sit on my lap. His favorite pastime is dancing on my belly. As proof of his everlasting affection, he likes to crawl up my bloated and bruised body for a hug, using mainly his elbows and knees. His 43 pounds of unbridled love have become hard to handle these days. But it's also a constant reminder that this process is worth it. Worth every penny, every needle, every bruise, every emotional breakdown. So, so worth it.
The emotions have begun to swell throughout our little domicile. My husband, who never cries, teared up while watching a pregnancy commercial. He said "Man, I hope we can pull this off again." I'd like to think I haven't been too emotional, but I think I've had more meltdowns than my toddler this week.
I was sure I contracted the Zika virus at the Hollywood Bowl last week, thanks to three mosquito bites and a raging headache, paired with severe muscle pain two days later. My gyno, primary, IVF nurse and husband all talked me off the ledge on that one. Special shout out to the CDC, who makes it pretty much impossible to go get tested. I started crying at a 2 year old’s birthday party because I couldn't carry my son up a staircase to go down a silly slide. I cried in the car on the way home from said party because my son sang "Let It Go" to me and I loved every second of it. So, yeah... I'm a hot mess. I blame the drugs.
My injection routine has become a lot more complicated. Previously it was one injection, to the 10 mark, of Leuprolide. At my last appointment, they went over the new routine. I would decrease my Leuprolide to the 5 mark, discontinue the birth control and begin injections of Follistim and Menopur. The nurse walked me through the process, step by step. The Menopur involves switching needles and diluting two vials of powder with 1 cc of sterile liquid, popping on a fresh needle and stabbing myself in the stomach. "Like a dart" they say.
Next, the Follistim. It must be refrigerated and comes with a fancy pen that I load and carefully dial to the 300 mark making sure I don’t accidentally pass the safe dosage amount. Then the needle is attached and another game of darts begins. This was all explained to me last week at my Friday appointment. I paid close attention and felt confident until she ended with "you'll begin this process next Thursday." Giga giga, what? How do you expect me to remember all of that for almost a full week?
I'm impulsive. I'm fun-loving. I'm forgetful. To put it simply, I'm a 37-year-old woman who spends my mornings chasing a 2-year-old, screaming at my mini-schnauzer to stop eating my son's organic breakfast as my kid makes a break for it out the pet door while inhaling a handful of puppy chow. I almost always forget to put on deodorant or underwear, or both. If I'm missing only one, you caught me on a good day. If you want me to do something- please don't show me how to do it six days prior. Show me 30 minutes before go time.
Miraculously, I managed to remember the routine. Although, I may have forgotten to sterilize a few of the vials... Or all of them. Details, details. The important thing is I got it in my belly. Bullseye!
I'm getting so good at this I may even need to start my own dart team. Who's with me? We can call ourselves the Starving Dartists, or Injectile Dysfunction. Hormonal pricks? I'm open to suggestions ... I just know I’m giving it my best shot(s).