The paper work is filled in. We’ve met with the nurse and cycle coordinator. It’s all systems go. Just waiting for AF to show up. Feels strange waiting for AF to show up. I normally hate her arrivals but this time I want her to arrive on time.
Low and behold, AF arrives two days early. Woot! I was expecting my body to betray me and delay her arrival. So happy to begin the injections and get this process rolling. DH hates needles so it’s up to me each morning to jab myself in the stomach. Quick, sharp and over in seconds.
First scan reveals I have 2 follies on my left ovary and 3 on the right. Kind of low but the technician isn’t too concerned.
Three days later and the result is still the same. Two on the left and 3 on the right. Boo. The measurements are OK for collection so I’m in theatre three days later. The whole surgery experience is bloody scary. I opt for light sedation so I can watch my eggs being collected on the plasma screen. Yes, there is a plasma in the theatre! DH is sitting beside me squeezing my hand for reassurance. Half way through the surgery, I lose consciousness and black out. Yikes! Apparently I’m allergic to the sedation. The first words to pass my lips is “How many eggs did you collect?”.
FS gives me a sad look, takes my hand and tells me only 1 egg was collected.
The deepest sadness I’ve ever experienced washes over me. I begin to howl and DH tries to comfort me. One egg! One lousy egg! Hell, I can produce one egg every month without torturing my body with injections and drugs.
The following day my FS calls us with the news – the egg didn’t fertilise. Guttered. Devastated. Wasted. Inconsolable. Heartbroken.
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