Treatment Over. Complete with Simulated Walk of Shame for Authenticity

So the IUI is over, and I am going crazy all over these internets.

The current fear is that the IUI was done too soon, given that it took place less than 24 hours after I had taken the so-called “trigger” shot (I confess I had absolutely no idea how this would work, and lay awake most of the night praying that I wouldn’t ovulate too soon and miss the sperm).

And after all that I now find that the “trigger” doesn’t trigger bugger all until 36 hours later, by which point the sperm would all have been dead as a doornail (is that the phrase?  Well, as dead as a very dead thing anyway, like, I don’t know, a 5000 year old Egyptian mummy or something).

I even had a dream that all the sperm were dead.  So there, it must be true.

Perhaps I have in fact killed the sperm by visualising them dead.  I have a powerful mind you know.  Today I was thinking about Alexandra Burke (God knows why) and an Alexandra Burke song popped up on my ipod.  Now if I can trigger Alexandra Burke to sing in my ears merely by thinking about her, surely I could also be responsible for killing sperm by thinking about them dead.

The actual events surrounding the insemination are somewhat hazy.  Mostly because I was drugged up and don’t remember any of it, therefore in the extremely unlikely event of my becoming pregnant, the baby will appear like some sort of miracle virgin conception that I will probably give birth to unexpectedly in a toilet (sadly, another one of my crazy dreams involved me giving birth to twins far too early in the pregnancy, i.e. early enough for them both to still be red and bloody and look like foetuses.  The dream ended badly, with one of my beloved twins dying in my arms, and me then running around desperately trying to stop the other one from dying too.  If that’s not a grim premonition then I don’t know what is).

Anyway, I went for a scan on Friday afternoon-the first since I’d started on the ol’ meds.  Of course all my fears had been realised and I had overstimulated, although frustratingly not by much (frustrating because had I had one less follicle, I wouldn’t have had to pay over the odds to get one sucked out).  I had four follicles.  Now that I’ve read all manner of details about other people’s IUIs on the interwebs and all of them seem to know in great detail the precise sizes of their follicles (or “follies” as those in the know, such as myself, call them).  However, I was so worried about how many there were that I paid absolutely no attention whatsover to the size of mine, and now realise that I should have asked.  I’m sure one of them was 22mm, and another one maybe 17mm, both of which sound pretty standard from what I’ve read.

Anyway, I was offered the stark choice of either abandoning the cycle, which would have been less unpalatable had I had an unsuspecting man available to drag back to my place to try “au natrel” (which I didn’t.  Men are so unreliable) and hope for the best (i.e. some babies but preferably not quads.  That would be embarrassing) or paying an extra few quid (450 to be precise) to get one “or two” aspirated.

TWO!  What was the point in taking all those poxy injections if all the eggs were just going to be sucked out?

I chose the latter.  Unfortunately this meant a total cost of £500, the additional fifty coming from the train ticket to Devon that I had purchased with the objective of attending a friend’s wedding there the following day.  I also had to come back the following morning for the follicle reduction and the IUI to be performed together.

I went home and had a mournful last glass of wine, hoping that it wouldn’t damage the quality of my precious eggs.

The following morning I set off for the clinic early, looking uncannily like someone doing the walk of shame, as I was completely overdressed as I was getting on a train to attend said wedding straight afterwards, but afflicted with a severe lack of make up or hair products as both were in my suitcase having been driven to Devon by a friend the night before in the expectation that I would be joining said suitcase later.

I arrived and was shown into a hospital ward-type room along with two other women who were both having egg collections for IVF.  There was a surgical gown on the bed-type thing which I assumed I was supposed to put on, but no one had actually explained to me whether I should, and the other women looked like they knew what they were doing, so I didn’t want to look like a total idiot by putting it on wrong, and had to poke my head round the curtain and ask the nurse.  Embarrassment number one.

Embarrassment number two occurred when one of the other women came out of her egg collection clearly drugged up to the eyeballs and slurring her words whilst gleefully telling the nurse that she had “dreamed” she would have four eggs collected (a bit like I dreamed I had dead sperm and dead twins.  I sense a theme here and it’s not a good one).  I decided that I would not be drugged up and embarrassing and when I came out of my follicle reduction and IUI (I reminded them I was having this done by asking lots of questions about how many follicles they were planning to remove, etc, just in case they got confused, thought I was having egg collection too and removed all my eggs.  HORROR) and therefore when I came out of theatre (why do they call it that?) I demanded several times that the nurse reassure me that I did not sound “drugged up,” then declared that I loved the drugs and wanted them all the time, especially when travelling on long haul flights.  DOUBLE HORROR.

Anyway, after a bit of lying about drinking cups of tea and wondering where all the sperm were (there didn’t look like there were many in the test tube, although I was assured that there were over 9 million) I was finally free to go and hot-footed it to Paddington to jump on a train where astonishingly, I made it to the wedding on time, albeit sans make up.

The rest of the day was spent trying to avoid doing too much dancing (I had been advised to avoid the gym) or drinking (I had been advised not to do that either).  I’m sure I didn’t ovulate until later that evening, which I reckon could scupper my chances as surely if I didn’t ovulate until, say, midnight, that would have been more than twelve hours after IUI and by then surely all the sperm would have been dead, given that the interwebs say they only live for about six hours once they’ve been frozen, thawed and washed (a traumatic process for a sperm, one imagines).

Anyway, I am trying not to overthink this (have just spent the last two hours desperately searching for answers on the interwebs) as hopefully the clinic know what they are doing (fleecing me, mostly).

Anyway, I am armed with a pregnancy test and I am determined to use it.  Hopefully not until my period is late (PERIOD PLEASE BE LATE.  TEST PLEASE BE POSITIVE, OR I HAVE WASTED A WHOLE CREDIT CARD THAT I COULD HAVE SPENT ON SHOES!!!!)

Only time will tell.

6 Comments Add yours

  1. Pen says:

    I had never read this post before. It sounds really scary. Your dreams sound really vivid. I am so glad that it all worked out and that you have Piglet, I am sure he is a million times better than a credit card’s worth of shoes … except when he is sick on the shoes that you are wearing – Cignet seems to do that a lot.

    Anyway, hat off to you for making it to the wedding on time afterwards. Certainly a busy day. Life is all about the stories we get to tell hey?


    1. Min says:

      Thanks Pen. Actually that was only the beginning of the story. It didn’t work out that time and I ended up having a second attempt, this time with IVF, and that was what worked. There will certainly be some stories to tell Piglet when he is older!

  2. Your so brave! Must have been a nerve racking time. Thanks for linking up to #justanotherlinky xx

    1. Min says:

      Thank you! Thanks for hosting.

  3. Beth says:

    Oh bless you! I hope you have a positive test 🙂

    thank you for linking up with #justanotherlinky

    1. Min says:

      Ah, this is an old post. Unfortunately I didn’t get a positive test that time, but all was OK in the end…

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.