Today I get to see if my ovaries have produced the goods. I’m excited. I practically skip into the clinic. As I reach the doors, a woman I know and her partner exit. She is a couple of years older than me. Her eyes widen before she breaks into a smile as we acknowledge each other’s journey. This dream that I had given up on, this dream that I have never truly allowed myself to indulge in, is suddenly a possibility.
My Doctor’s offices are very plush. IVF is not cheap. There are two small private change rooms with flowers and silk dressing gowns before you enter the screening room. I never seem to position myself correctly and have to shuffle myself down the bed in an ungainly fashion to get my feet into the stirrups.
There are two dark patches on my right ovary each measuring 10.5. Don’t ask me what the unit is… millimetres? Or some special gynaecological measurement? It’s irrelevant to me. Dr C apologises as I flinch as the probe moves to my left ovary. There are two dark patches on this side too, but the smaller one measures 18 and the larger 27.5. I can see from Dr C’s face that this is not good.
Dr C’s first concern is that the largest egg is actually a cyst. I have to go for a blood test before any decision is made as to how to continue or not. His second concern is the discrepancy in sizes between the ovum. They need to ripen at the same rate for an optimum harvest.
My heart sinks a little. I say as much to Sister as she prepares to give me today’s injection. She tells me its normal to be emotional with so many hormones being pumped through my body. I tell her I am always emotional.
I get a message from my sister as I leave. She wants to go hiking. This throws me into confusion. I have been told that I can’t do any ‘sport’ for two weeks after the ICSI. I’m guessing that includes tramping around hills and valleys. When I woke up this morning I was pretty convinced I would be pregnant next week. Now I’m not so sure.
I call her and get ’emotional’ on the phone. This is why I don’t let myself dream. This is why I don’t let myself hope. I explain that the reason I haven’t told anyone that I started the fertility treatment is because I don’t want to have to deal with telling everyone when it doesn’t work out. She tells me that’s why I need to tell people, so that they can be there when I need them. It’s hard for me. I have been too independent for too long. I am too proud. I have never known how to let people help me. But I know she’s right. She usually is.
After three I get the call to say Dr C is happy with my bloods and I can proceed with the medication in the brown paper bag that is sitting on my desk at work. This time it includes an injection that will prevent ovulation. My next scan will be Saturday morning.