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09/23/2006
Put down the toothbrush and no one gets hurt
This morning I was booked for my first scan since starting injections. My idea had been to stumble out to the car wrapped up only in my down comforter, one eye still resolutely closed against the unwelcome drizzly dawn, but when I gingerly lifted a corner of the duvet to drag it off the bed, Paul sweetly murmured something in his sleep that could have been either "Poor girl. Good luck," or "Drop the fucking blanket or I'll stab you in the kidneys," and, you know, I just didn't have the heart. For one thing, he looked so peaceful. For another, I happen to know he keeps a sharpened toothbrush under his side of the mattress for emergencies just like this. So instead I showered, dressed, and drove, arriving fifteen minutes early for my 7:30 appointment.
I am, as you know, a woman of decisive action, so I had scooted down to the end of the table before the doctor had even finished his polite knock before entering. The doctor, on the other hand, was moving slowly. In the time it took him to put on gloves, squirt a glob of gel onto the probe, sheathe it in a condom, and garnish the whole affair with another quivering dollop of goo, I could have applied to med school, sweated out an acceptance, matriculated and graduated, completed my residency, secured a prestigious fellowship, acquired six to ten years of experience in the exciting specialty of reproductive endocrinology, put on my own gloves, and done the scan myself. Of course, now that I think about it, I would also have had to invent a time machine to throw myself back to that fateful day in the autumn of '89 when I swatted the alarm clock into silence, pulled the pillow back over my head, and muttered, "8 AM biology lecture, my ass. It's not like I'm going to be a doctor." But I had time to do that, too. That's how long it seemed to take before he was ready to start the proceedings. There was far too long and far too awkward a delay while I was, how you say, open for business. I will be fair, however, and concede that time does funny things when you're not wearing pants.
The news is not discouraging, though it's still very early. I have...something... developing on my right ovary, meaning a couple of measurable follicles, and slightly less, meaning nothing measurable yet, happening on the left. If you are tracking the box scores, you'll want to note that my endometrium measures a respectable 7.3 mm; this is satisfying because in past cycles it has achieved comparable plumpness, and nothing cushier, only a day or two before trigger. My E2 today after four nights of gonadotropins is 122; this compares favorably to past cycles in which it hovered around 150 after six days of drugs. Now save that scorecard. It could be valuable one day if Paul eventually does give me the shivving I richly deserve.
Dosage remains the same. Next scan Monday at 9 AM, an hour so refreshingly civilized that I'm already planning which pillow sham to accessorize with.
Comments (17)
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LOL sorry your doc was "a man with a slow hand"! You realize that should you fall pregnant on this cycle, everyone and their sister will tell you it's because your body "learned how to do it"!
There should be some kind of a "speedpass" for IVF veterans. Get gowned, lube up the wand, scan yourself, and page the doctor to come take a picture.
For our first 2 cycles I was at a facility that shall remain nameless (GW University, Washington DC). They had open monitoring times from 7am to 9am.
The roller derby started on the street, finding parking. It continued as the ladies raced upstairs to disrobe in the junior high girls locker room, or a close facsimile, all so that they could be the first to wrap a paper sheet around their bare ass, walk into the waiting area, sit on a cold plastic chair and hear the rip of the paper. Which, once heard, makes walking into the sono room with any shred of dignity nigh impossible.
After a few days you got used to the mutterings of the Greek chorus ("that bitch cut in front of me last week too").
We had a lot of time sitting around with our pants off.
Sounds encouraging for sure! Must have been the Bling on the sharps container.. I'm still laughing about that one! How do you THINK of this stuff?!?!?
We're all rooting for you!
you go, madame ovary!!!!
"Quivering dollop of goo"--heh.
It sounds like you're off to a great start. How's it going with the Lupron??
Sounds pretty good so far...wishing you the very best of luck!
BTW--every time I had a "date" with the dildocam, I was *sure* they were trying to obtain a view of the ovaries from Oregon. Ouch!
Good luck!
As I prepare for my first scan next week I will be thinking of you and the goo!
Take care and good luck
Your slow-poke RE doesn't sound so bad next to one of my doctors, Speedy Gonzalez. He works so quickly, he's a blur. And, man -- let's not even talk about the harpooning of the poonannie. Yowza.
During my last "date with the dildocam" (hee!) the tech was trying to find my ovaries, and waving the thing around with much enthusiasm, and I just couldn't help it... I said, "Do you think it's in my pocket or something?"
We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure out a way to make it possible for someone to do an OB/GYN exam without all of this humiliating B.S. Sheesh.
One of my other greatest hits, was when the nurse practitioner started in without a word, and I said, "Hey, could you warn me what you're going to do down there before you just start... doing stuff?" So a bit later she said, "Ok, now I'm going to examine you manually..." and I said, "Gee, you haven't even taken me out for dinner yet!"
They do not think I'm funny at Planned Parenthood. But I counter-protest the protestors, so it all evens out.
*keeping fingers crossed for you....*
That's why the fancy clinic costs more, so they can have a nurse do the gel-squirting, condom-sheathing, and goo-dolloping.
Excellent Numbers!
Time is indeed funny when you're not wearing pants. And this was a ridiculously funny post.
Best of luck, I'm rooting for you and your lady parts.
I swear my doctor inserted the wand without even looking this morning. The comic book sound effect would be "thwoink".
Hi there,
Heard you on BBC radio 4 the other morning as I was driving to work. So I decided to visit your blog. Which is every bit as warm, witty, darkly sad and well, human as you sounded on the radio show. I'll definitely come back to visit from time-to-time. I think your views on other people trying to be 'helpful' are bang on. My wife miscarried a few years ago and at best comments left us drowning in warm, well-meant sludge and at worst on the edge of mindless violence.
I'm glad you've got an ankle biter all of your own now. Hurrah!
Mike