Pea and I got up before the crack of dawn this morning, and sleepily hustled ourselves downstairs to catch a cab to the clinic. Pea had an espresso in a travel mug. I had thick socks on as per the advice of the nurses, to keep my feet warm in surgery.
We checked in, I was given an IV of antibiotics, and we had a discussion on the microarray genetic testing kits they had stored on the shelves near my chair (“want me to steal one for you?” “Obviously!”) and on Fermat’s theorem because Pea is reading Love and Math right now, and had brought it to pass the time. Even at 7 am, we channel pure geek love.
The anesthesiologist came by to check in, and had me take my rescue inhaler, just in case. A smooch to Pea, and then she and the nurse escorted me to the operating room. A new stirrup experience – thigh stirrups! Substantially more comfortable than heel stirrups, which always strain my hip flexors.
The attending fellow’s birthday is eleven days from mine, same year. The anesthesiologist and nurse were both the same astrological sign as we are. I laughed, saying we were a steadfast and stubborn crew and woke up after what felt like the best nap ever. I was on a gurney with a heating pad and blankets, in an alcove of the original staging area. They gave me ginger ale and graham crackers. Pea popped in and sat with me for a while, maybe 20 min. They got me to sit up and then stand, I dressed, and we cabbed home.
The embryologist and surgeon stuck his head in once Pea was there – “hey, you did fantastic, we got 26 eggs. Take care.” There is a purple permanent marker “26” on my left palm, I guess in case I was still out of it when they told me. A keepsake to take home, given we have left the important bits behind.
The rest of the day has consisted of giant glasses of water and gatorade on constant repeat, and a protein-oriented nutrition regime, in the hopes of staving off OHSS should it try to appear. I’ve been in bed til now (late afternoon), with a heating pad and internet poker broadcasts or silly websites. Pea has been out buying a heating pad, and protein-y groceries, and flowers. He’s in the kitchen making us an elaborate dinner. He’s the best.
I am sore, but lucid and do not feel otherwise ill. It hurts to stand up or sit, like my ovaries are pulling down on my internal membranes. It’s not terrible, but I’m not interested in going anywhere or doing anything. Luckily I don’t have to, and it is Saturday, and I can extend my doing nothing through tomorrow should I feel like it.
26 eggs. Two years and a smidge worth of natural attempts. More like a decade at my natural rate. Many may not be mature, I never had more than 22 follicles measuring even close to in-range, but I can afford a chunk of immature eggs if starting with 26. It will only take one.
Fertilization report tomorrow. Today is gatorade and salt and rest. One day at a time.