Pause of a few days there while I menstruated. I’m not very good at it. I need to lie down and whimper a lot. (On the positive side, I was not sick even once. Was this the buserelin or the new anti-nausea tablets my GP prescribed with a little worried frown? Not that I ate for 36 hours. Though I did manage to sip black tea with lemon (actually the only non-nauseating drink on the planet for those few days when Cute Ute the Despoiler has gone a bit Sauron), so I didn’t dehydrate to a little sad pukey raisin either. It’s all quite a triumph).
I missed three days of work (ugh) and worked from home for the fourth day (which was necessary, because Cute Ute had a rampage mid-afternoon and did Evil Laughing in the face of pain medications and I lay down on the floor and felt a bit Frodo On The Plateau of Gorgoroth). I limped into work today feeling self-conscious, and announced I needed to disappear for a few hours in the afternoon and, err, well, sorry. Um. I have sweeties?
At the clinic, I met the delectably dishevelled H, and shortly thereafter left him peacefully watching Wimbledon in the waiting room while I went off to be scanned. He didn’t think his presence was necessary for this bit. He’s certainly right – when I got into the scanning room there was nowhere really he could have lurked. But ÜberScanningLady was adorable, and very cheerful, and when I asked if I could nip to the loo to… umm… because I still had my period, also, sorry if this was a bit messy, she brightly said ‘oh, we’re used to that! Honestly, it goes right over my head! Well,’ she added, ‘not literally. That would be a bit of a horror movie!’ and I giggled all the way to the loo and back (and in the event, Cute Ute seemed to have decided she was more or less done, for now, and there was not much mess, so yay for Cute Ute).
I remembered to warn ÜberScanningLady that Satsuma was a singleton, which pleased her, as did the joke I made about the scanning lady I forgot to warn who ended up somewhere near my liver before I got a grip and asked if she’d checked the notes. ÜberScanningLady and I, we are like this now. We peered together at Cute Ute, who looks ‘adenomyosisy’ (‘see, a fibroid would look like a distinct lump, but this is all mottled’) and therefore they needed to get me pregnant as quickly as possible (YES PLEASE THANK YOU). The lining was pretty much gone, which is how it should be on day 4 of a lady’s cycle, but she showed me the line where it would be if it was there.
And then we turned our attention to Satsuma, who was eventually unearthed nestled into a fold of bowel (ÜberScanningLady had to push down hard on my tummy and hold the dildocam at an unnatural angle to see her, so imagine the next few minutes all accompanied by a high-pitched ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee’ from Cute Ute). And, gosh darn bless that little ovary, but Satsuma was completely free of cysts of any description, PCOS-type or otherwise, and with her adorable smattering of tiny antral follicles, like freckles on an upturned nose, was declared perfect. ‘I thought you had PCOS?’ said ÜberScanningLady, shoving harder (‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE’ said Cute Ute), ‘Your ovary looks perfect to me.’ (See? See?).
I floated back to the waiting room on a cloud of candy floss and unicorn farts.
Another adorable nurse (what is it with the staff at Riverside? It’s like Build-a-Bear in there) took us both to a tiny back office to Initiate Us In The Ways Of The Needle. ‘You need to grab a bit of muffin-top – all ladies have some,’ she said, demonstrating on her barely-enough-for-a-cake-pop. H and I were each sat there holding a ‘demonstration’ Gonal-F pen and a needle and feeling faintly dorky – was she going to stab herself? Was I supposed to stab myself? Was she going to get H to stab me? To my relief, she got out a square of Elastoplast-pink foam to practice on, and we both did, and it didn’t scream. So!
We start with Gonal-F, 150IU an evening. On Monday I go back for another scan and bloodwork, and then add Cetrotide (which will involve feckin’ about with powder and little vials oh my God). On Thursday I start the Prednisolone tablets. Trigger will be, well, whenever, but probably 10th or 11th of July. And then we RETRIEVE. The nice nurse kindly said we could worry about ‘the other medications’ as and when. So I shall. And then we got a pink Frequent Flyers gift bag containing a miniature sharps bin, two DVDs on ‘How To Stab Yourself For Dummies’, leaflets, and, oh wondrous, a sort of briefcase, full of padded compartments and zips and extra shoulder straps, to keep all the medication in. It… I… Seriously? Well, thank you, really, and, seriously?
And then we floated off to the pharmacy (unicorn farts a little stale now, because NEEDLES) to let the Private Medicine System bend my credit card over the counter and use no lube at all.
This evening, this very evening I am typing this at you, Gentle Readers, I took a swig of Pimms (don’t judge me), washed my hands, lined up the fancy pen, the needles, the instructions and the sharps bin, read the instructions again, faffed, got the cap off and the needle on, realised I hadn’t dialled in the dose, panicked vaguely about the minute air bubble the nurse had explicitly said wasn’t a problem, realised I still hadn’t dialled in the dose, did that, got H to check it said 150, took the cap off the needle, took the cover off the needle, bared my muffins, felt a bit sweaty, got H to bring me an ice-cube, sat there with top tucked right over the top of my breasts, naked-needled pen in one hand, ice pressed to tummy with other hand, oh for the love of… get a grip, May, sunk the needle into my flesh and pressed the plunger.
Nothing. The pen went ‘clickclickclick’ in my hand as the doseometer spun back to 0, I held the needle still while counting to ten, pulled it out, put the needle cap back on it, unscrewed that and dropped it in the sharps bin, recapped the pen, and we had a little Mexican wave in honour of me. Wheeeee! Nothing! Did not hurt! Barely felt it!
I am celebrating with a chamomile tea. Next step, shooting up in public bathrooms.