We received an email from Dr George today, saying, basically, ‘as I said in my letter…’. And H called me from work to say ‘WHAT LETTER?’ and that’s the problem right there. Dr George sent us a letter explaining all about the changes in plan and we never got it.
Though his explanation for the buserelin prescription was a little more, well, less. He did it via email while out of the office, apparently. I can only imagine that the nurses pestered him at home about it, and he emailed it in without double-checking who it was for and why, because why the hell would someone want buserelin if it wasn’t needed for something? And ta-dah! Cock-up.
HOWEVER, in our email to him, the ‘what’chu talkin’ ’bout, Willis?’ email, we pointed out that the original reasoning behind the buserelin was to give the endometriosis/adenomyosis a good ol’ squashing, so I don’t start The Cycle Of The IVF puking hysterically (puking hysterically! I kill me!) and will be more available for wanding (personal comfort apparently a factor. Who knew?). So now Dr George is saying ‘oh, what the hell, do two weeks’ buserelin suppression anyway, and then we’ll go on to an antagonist protocol’.
The reason behind the antagonist protocol? My AMH is ‘excellent’. And that plus PCOS equals quite a risk of OHSS. Which we all agree is a Bad Thing. So. This all seems perfectly sane, and would’ve seemed sane from the off if we’d received that bloody letter.
So. Plan. Buserelin, then antagonist protocol, with steroids. After collection, intralipids and clexane (heparin). Meanwhile, the point of being on metformin (oh, yes, I forgot yesterday to mention the actual point) is that it lessens the risk of OHSS in vulnerable patients (hello! That would be me!).
My eyes looked fairly normal this morning. I don’t know what to do about the metformin anymore. Bloaty farty bog-addict I can live with, exploding liver I (natch) can’t. I wonder if H was just being vaguely hysterical (ha! Hahahaha!) about my eyes. I haven’t taken any metformin today while I worry about it and prod myself repeatedly in the solar plexus (nada).
Meanwhile, Satsuma and my bladder had a competition to see who could give me the most grief, and I am in so much pain in that general area I feel vaguely sick, and have gone all morose. It would be just like Satsuma to pop early this cycle, and make me do maths. Silly gonad.
[Enter flock of unicycling pygmy goats playing the famous bit from La Forza del Destino on teeny tiny violins]