When we did the second embryo transfer, my doctor noticed a spot in my uterus that he thought might be a polyp in development but neither he nor the other doctor who checked me before the transfer were concerned.
We had that weird test result, which means who knows what except that it didn't work. But, you know, get back on that horse and head back to the rodeo. We went in today to have a hysteroscopy, something I can't really pronounce, sounds hysterical, and if you get it wrong, leads people to believe you're having your uterus ripped out. (Hystera is the Greek word, now a root, for womb.) Most people would ask their doctor what such a procedure would entail. Not me. I shut down. Didn't ask how long it would take, didn't ask if I'd be knocked out, nothing. Dumbass.
So, no food or water after midnight the night before. No problem unless your appointment is at 11am, pant pant. Mister brought Bama with us, but they went off to the Ferry Building for adventures. They had to come as I couldn't drive myself home afterwards. I got the same miracle drug as my egg retrieval — you're knocked OUT immediately, then come swimming back to the surface fairly quickly. The hysteroscopy takes about half an hour. I arrived surly. Can you blame me? Am I supposed to be excited about going to the fertility doctor, for one? And to have something snipped out of my uterus that may have caused, or could cause, any embryo transfers to fail. Good times.
I take it out on the nurses and on the staff. It didn't help that I was alone. (Mister, don't you dare feel guilty, you had someone to take care of who literally can't take care of herself.) Once the IV was in, courtesy the surfer-anesthesiologist who, like my main nurse, was very kind and cheerful without being too cheerful, I contemplated the walls. No food or liquid for 11 hours; I am taken to the bathroom for one last pee break. This, I found amusing, but when I came out of the procedure, what I remembered was being splashed with water, unsure if I was the splasher or if the doctor dumped water on me. (It was the latter.)
The drugs are so quick, I blink into unconsciousness and then swim out of it an hour later. I was given a bit of pain killer because the stuff that actually knocks you out burns when it goes in. The pain killer made me loopy. I cracked a joke to the anesthesiologist about the knock-out drug, but that's the last thing I remember. When I woke up, I asked the nurse if it was true there had been four polyps, or had I dreamt the conversation. Nope. Four polyps where none should be and one was suspected. They were sent off to pathology for a closer look. We get results in about a week.
Here's the thing every step of this sucks a little life out of me even though it's a step forward towards a baby (remember, that's not guaranteed). It's expensive so I worry that I/we are being foolish. It's emotionally stressful. An embryo transfer feels like pregnancy. They slide in a straw, blow a little embryo into your uterus, what could go wrong? Except you're not pregnant and lots can go wrong.
Then there is the money. Sure, it's tacky to talk about money, but I know people wonder how much all this costs. I know I did. Hell, I still do. This side-trip down "your uterus is beautiful except for these potholes that will kill your embryo" cost a bit over $2,000. Acupuncture is $130 a visit (including herbs). I'll probably start going next week every week until the transfer and then for a few weeks after. We want my uterus full of good blood and juicy (his terms), after all.
To be thankful about a few things, so I don't sound like a bitter wretch, I am thankful for my mother, who calls to check in, and my stepmother, who watches Bama once a week so I can have time to do whatever needs doing. On Friday, Nana came to stay with a very cranky Bama. I napped for the most part, after doing a phone interview for UC Berkeley's child development center. I should have changed the time, but muddled through an hour of questions about behavior with examples. Oh my. When I finally napped, Nana had just taken Bama out of my room (she was visiting post-nap). Blink. I'm out. I woke up a couple of hours later in a dark room with Bama-rumblings coming up the stairs.
I am thankful for Mister who took our girl out for an adventure but wanted to be with me when I woke up. I am thankful for my friends who are stepping in to help out but aren't asking questions. I don't want to actually talk about most of this, least of all how I feel, but it's nice to have some of that out there. I figure if you know me and you know what's going on, you'll understand why I might be quiet, or tense, or crabby, or elated without a good reason.
I am thankful for Bama who, even with a nose running rivers of snot, is the sweetest thing I know. She makes everyday better.