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Day 11: Itchy trigger finger

The doctor's office is so different on a Sunday. You know everyone in the waiting room is there for IVF, and not for routine OB/GYN care. Everyone was quiet and self-contained, and it seemed so tense that I had to fight a perverse urge to swagger around the room bellowing, "So! Whaddya in for?!"

It's kind of good that I am me. Otherwise I'd have to hate me.

But I digress. I personally was in to have my follicles counted. The doctor located four likely-looking follicles. Two were large-ish, two were slightly smaller, and then the rest were mere bagatelles. I hauled my ovaries out of bed at 6 on a Sunday morning for this?

Later on the phone the doctor told me she didn't think we could buy any more time, and advised that we trigger that evening. She said she thought we'd get three decent eggs, four max. It wasn't too late for us to cancel.

Paul and I agonized over it for a few hours. We finally concluded that we wanted to go ahead — that even if we ended up with only two embryos, we'd have improved on last cycle. At this point that was our focus, that and trying to make something worthwhile out of the last week's stress.

The doctor called back to get our verdict. When I told her, she said, "I think that's a good decision. So you should go ahead and do your trigger shot now."

"Now?" I said, startled.

"Yep, for an 8:30 retrieval Tuesday."

Now one thing you may know about me if you've read earlier entries is that I'm almost psychotically compliant. So Paul and I marched off dutifully to do the shot. It didn't occur to me until half an hour later to count the hours: the trigger's supposed to be given about 35 hours before retrieval. We'd done the shot at 4:30 PM...

...making retrieval necessary at 3:30 AM Tuesday.

Obviously something's wrong. The strange thing was that I, normally anxious, didn't feel an angstrom of panic about this. Their mistake; they'll make it right.

After all this ridiculous drama, I'm wretchedly ambivalent about going ahead, because this cycle has been a clusterfuck from the word go, but also hugely invested in doing so. Otherwise the last three weeks of anxiety are going to feel like an enormous, upsetting waste.