egg scramble: rollercoaster

rollercoaster

I'd been doing a good job of remaining cool thus far. hCG shot delivered Tuesday: check. (With minor confusion prefacing, but still.) First PIO: easy-breezy. So maybe this is what happens when things go just a little too smoothly. Because as A and I sit outside waiting for news of R's egg retrieval this morning, I feel calm, I feel collected, I feel sure that things are going exactly the way things are supposed to go. I feel good.

Then we get the news: they've aspirated five of the big follicles on one side. And nada. No eggs. Zip, zero, zilch. Nothing. I'm going numb. A puts his arm around me, tries to look at me; I stare at the far corner of the room.

Zero is the emptiest feeling in the world.

Did the shot go all right? the nurse asks. Was there a problem mixing? Every once in awhile, patients have issues with the mixing, or with the batch itself; it's very rare, but it happens; we're checking her hCG levels now. I'm only half listening as she tries to reassure me. A patient this happened to a few months back is pregnant now. This only makes me feel worse: I'm sure it's not going to happen for me.

The nurse is so kind; she looks like the women in the boy's family, jolly and solid and comfortingly round. We'll know more soon, she says. And then she's gone.

I have no body; I can't feel my arms, my legs, my head, my heart. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Let's go for a walk, the boy says, guiding my elbow, holding me close.

And so we walk. Down the stairs, out the door, past the other anxious couples who are trying not to look at me now. (The tears have started.) And because we still have to wait for R to drive her home (how will I face her? I'm sure she must be feeling awful too) we're stuck there at the clinic, hugging in the parking lot, walking concrete circles. The sky is blue; the sun is bright. And this is the worst view in the world.

Then, my cell phone rings. It's my mom (who's been waiting with R; they're close; when I'd asked R a couple of days earlier if she wanted anyone else with her on retrieval day, she'd requested my mom without missing a beat). The doctor's looking for you, Mom says. Then pauses. Says softer, Good news.

And so we race back into the clinic, ask for the doctor, get hustled straight into his office.

Ten eggs, he says, smiling.

And my heart that was somewhere in my stomach seems to be back where it's supposed to be, beating again, thump thump, thump thump. I'm so tired, and the next couple of days will be hard, hard, hard. But we're still in the game. One more step forward. And this is good.

# posted by y @ 1:18 PM