Monday, March 13, 2006

If a kid with diabetes can do it...

What's next?? Well, as I wait for my pathology reports and my BRCA gene tests, it's time to move on to the next phase of the journey... back to ovarian pac-man. Some time this week, I will begin the fun that is known as fertility shots in preparation for IVF (In-vitro Fertilization). Did I mention a lot of shots? On Thursday Alan and I were prepped for our exciting couple of weeks. Alan shoots me up in the evening starting on day 3- that goes for a while. About 7 days later we start an additional shot to keep me from ovulating naturally, then once everything is "ready" (also known as having about 15 or so follicles ready to explode out some eggs), I will get one final shot to get them ready for harvest. The sheer volume of needles and drugs is enough to make my head spin. I swear, we upped the value of out car about 5k just by putting the meds in the trunk. The shots are "no biggie" she tells us- sure, no biggie for you. How many of you ladies would trust your significant other to shoot you up? Let me play for you a scenario:

Alan: Okay, Courtney- give me some thigh. Or do you want it in the belly?

Courtney: Please, could we not draw attention to the squishy bits?

Alan: Thigh it is, then. (twisting pen needle device) Do you remember how this works?

Courtney: Didn't you watch the DVD?

Alan: Who needs instructions? She said little kids with diabetes do this to themselves all the time. How hard can it be? Okay, Count to three. One, Two..

Courtney: Ouch! Fuck! What happened to three?

Alan: Wanted to catch you off guard. Oh, man, I didn't get it in enough. Hold on, I gotta push it in a little more.

Courtney: Ow, Ow, I swear to God, your kid had better be worth this crap.

Alan: C'mon. Have you looked at me? Of course it's worth it.

I have been told that one of the side effects of this madness can be "some bloating". Imagine how bloated you feel when you're trying to make just one egg. Well, they're going to try to get like 15-20 of these suckers. Some, my ass. Our IVF coordinator (yes, I have one- just one of the many people in my neighborhood, like the oncologist and the plastic surgeon, etc. etc.) told me to let them know if I experienced "extreme" weight gain. What is extreme, you ask? Good question. I asked the same thing. Apparently extreme means 3 pounds IN A DAY. (I guess 2 pounds in a day is par for the course). So I get to be pumped full of estrogen and chubby. Cancer rocks. I've been told my ovaries will grow to about the size of tennis balls as they grow lots of egg follicles- so big, in fact, I may be able to feel them through my skin. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, a dollar a feel.

Okay, all this wittiness has left me spent. I'm still on some drugs and they make me a little dizzy sometimes. I need a nap.

1 comment:

Chris said...

Wow, THAT'S why you get paid the big bucks to write for TV!