Half way there
I wish I could post a funny, upbeat post about how my fertility cycle is going, but serious discomfort is like a mountain between me and this wish. I am half way through the cycle. The hideous migraines went away not long after my previous post. I had a few days or so of nothing really happening except for a few great ultrasound reports on my -ahem- girls. (You know…like guys call their offspring producers their “boys”?) Anyhow, my girls are IUI Rock Stars when it comes to responding well to minimal doses of fertility medication. (Claps self on belly. Way to go, girls!)
With this cycle, as you may recall, they wanted to control my cycle so that I would make more than one follicle to help boost my chances of conceiving. Three to six follicles (grows the eggs) is ideal, I ended up producing eight.
Before you choke or start thinking about John and Kate plus 8, let me add that there’s no way will end up as the next octomom. For starters, the follicles are divided between each of the two ovaries, and I have a low chance of being able to conceive from one side thanks to numerous abdominal surgeries. Add to the fact that half of all fertilized eggs fail to develop or implant and the fact that my body tends to miscarry and the nightmare of higher-order multiples like Octomom fades into the realm of impossibility. (Whew).
I am at a slightly higher risk of twins compared to the rest of fertility ladies. Aside from hyperventilating at the thought of double trouble, I am okay with this. I know that a twin pregnancy is high-risk, especially for yours truly, but I am prepared to do whatever it takes to give both babies the longest possible time to “cook” in the hypothetical oven.
This is only if I have successfully conceived. My doctor gave me a guessimate that I have about a 25%-50% chance of conceiving. I asked about my risk of multiples. He scratched his head, licked his finger, and selected a random figure out of the sky and declared me to be in the “slightly higher” risk group.
Anyhow…my girls have left me feeling incredibly sore in a way that super-enlarged ovaries tend to cause. For the guys, if you’ve actually managed to keep reading to this point, imagine your boys suddenly swelling to 4-5 times their size, throw in a couple of random kicks from a toddler in the midst of a tantrum, and you’ll understand.
Oh…and throw in some shoes generously covered in dog doodoo on the feet of this particular tantruming toddler. You know, since toddler boys love squashing those soft brown piles in the back yard, especially when they are in their good (read, unwashable) brown leather boots. Sighs. I guess I better go and scrub some stinking little shoes.