Sunday 29th August 2010
One year ago.
We’ve hit our groove.
After watching the DVD, we reassured ourselves that we didn’t do anything wrong. The pen does require plastic-bending levels of pressure to dial down in an unreassuringly, flimsy manner. I’ve also improved my grip. The pen really needs a firm grasp on the barrel, and a thumb on the plunger, while the other hand secures it at the skin. And, even better, if you let the thing defrost first, it isn’t quite as lumpy on the way in.
Suse already feels bloated, and we’re only about a third of the way through the injections.
“Already I feel twice as heavy as what I do before I ovulate. This is going to be shit.”
Suse will have an ultrasound to examine her follicles tomorrow. As we’ve been told, she’ll get Puregon until her follicles are 13-14mm, then three to five days of Orgalutran, then one dose of the Ovidrel. By then, they’ll be about 18mm each and ready for collection. That could mean ten follicles all up, five on each side, each nearly two centimetres in size.
According to Shelley, there really aren’t any side effects to the Puregon, other than fullness in the belly.
Try telling Suse that.
She’s cried three times since the injections began, and says she feels like absolute shit.
I’d tell her that it was all placebo effect. But I want to keep my marriage.
And I know this isn’t a great analogy, but if I had five cysts growing on each of my balls, I think I’d be pretty emotional too.
* * * * *
Work is keeping me going.
I went out on a trip yesterday to retrieve a baby that was born in the back of a taxi. His parents were on the way into hospital when things got a little out of hand. They ended up pulling into the carpark of the closest local hospital, where they had their little girl. She was thirty weeks. That’s two-and-a-half months early.
I sat there, listening to the call as it came in.
“Oh, hi, this is Jonathan, one of the Emergency Consultants,” he said sounding somewhat flustered. There was a lot of commotion in the background. “We’ve just had a baby deliver in the car park. And we don’t have a paediatric unit here.”
“How’s the baby doing?”
“It looks pink and is breathing on its own. Pretty well, I think. You wouldn’t believe the commotion it has caused.”
By the time we arrived, there were about fifteen people in the room. Nurses, doctors and ward clerks all swarmed around, all keen to help.
“I’ve been here twenty-two years,” said a battle-hardened nurse as I fought my way through, “and I’ve never seen this happen here.”
“Really?” I say, trying to sound interested. “Do you think we could clear the room just a bit?”
“Yeah, where do you want us to put Mum?” she said, her eyes never leaving the baby.
I pause for a moment.
“I’m fine with Mum being here. It’s everybody else.”
“Right. Yes, of course.”
It’s not just us. Everyone is excited at the prospect of new life. Even medical staff who’ve seen it all.
There really is nothing quite like the magic of a brand new baby.
* * * * *