Test Results

Anyone who knew me during my undergraduate degree knows how seriously I take tests. Ask my mother, she received weepy phone calls every exam period. Ask my husband, he had to listen to my panic, over-prepare, and then convince myself that I had failed. Preparing for a POAS result is both better and worse.
In this case it was better because, most importantly, I did not know if C had done the test or not. I cannot panic about something that I do know know is happening (yet). I also knew that we had both done everything we possible could to be prepared for the embryo transfer and if nothing else, I have learned that there is no way to predict or control what is going to happen in this life. On the other hand, we had just invested thousands of dollars, time, tears, and emotional baggage; the result of this test mattered far more. 
I had told C that she was 'allowed' to test, but I did not know when, or if, she would test before the blood work. Here is how I remember it: the following evening, just under 24 hours later, C sent me a text message asking if we could chat by phone. Perhaps indicative of my pessimism or fear, but I did not react with the assumption that she had tested. I thought she might have a question about reimbursement. Or a problem with the medications. Or an update in general. I actually told her that we were making dinner, but I could chat for a moment (always trying to put my family first, but also, not wanting to ever put her off). To my shock, she was phoning with test results. She explained that she had been thrilled to receive 'permission' and tested right away last night. She then said that she did not want to share results that might be too early, and so had tested again this morning. (Again, how amazingly thoughtful is she? She knows how scary all of this is for me, and how apprehensive I was about POAS, so she did her best to be sure). She told me that she had a bfp. She was pregnant. I could not believe it. I can still feel the rush in the pit of my stomach and my heart rate increase when I think about that. I smiled. I had tears. I told Lee, who smiled and probably continued making dinner, because he is not particularly emotive. C laughed and cried with me. She was pregnant. The first round of treatment had worked. Now we just had to see HOW pregnant. We had transferred two, so how many had implanted? But also, who cares?! Thank our lucky stars she was pregnant. Our walking, talking version of hope had pulled through once again. The hope was real. She might indeed be able to bring us a baby if I could not. 
Quietly, and to my self, I decided I would test the following morning. If it was time to trust her results, than it was time to trust mine as well. The next morning I woke around 4am and had to go pee, so I snuck into the bathroom for my own POAS. I was curious, but do not recall having many expectations. I thought about when I had done this for my very first pregnancy; I had done the test around the same time of day and then crept back into bed and told Lee I was pregnant. That time had been so exciting. This time, if I was pregnant, it would be a mixed bag because I wanted to try again, but it would be scary to do so. The test did not take as long as it says it will. It quite quickly informed me that I too, was pregnant. In that moment, and the moments that followed, it was exciting. I crawled back into bed with Lee and EllaGrace. Lee's eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. He knows me too well, I suppose, and was waiting to hear the news. I whispered to him above EllaGrace's head, which lied just beside Patrick and Maggie's blankets that we sleep with, and told him I was pregnant again. He smiled and we tried to get some more rest, hopeful that we would need it in the months to come. 

xx

Pee-on-a-stick-itis

Pee-on-a-stick: POAS. 
In our (C and I) research we learned that women began testing for a pregnancy almost immediately after an embryo transfer. Agencies provide boxes and boxes of tests. Women buy them in bulk at Costco. They POAS up to five times per day, each stick labelled: 3dp5dt 5am, which means 3 days past a 5 day transfer, at 5am. They monitor for any sign of a bfp (big fat positive), then they monitor for any changes in the shade of the test line on the test to see if they appear to be becoming more pregnant. 
Pregnancy works the same way whether or not it was conceived the 'old fashioned way' (sex) or any fertility treatment. You have to wait for the embryo to implant into the uterus and begin to grow, while the hormones for that growth accumulate in the system. A blood test is usually scheduled about two weeks after the transfer, known fondly as the two week wait (2ww). It is a hellish time for any couple, surely. To make it all harder, the medications used to help to facilitate and maintain the pregnancy are hormones, and can cause pregnancy-like symptoms. In the past I have even had what was like morning sickness - but could have been medications, anxiety, or both. Also, because of the medications, there is a possibility of a false positive. I do not think that it is common. However, I know myself. If it was positive, I would question the legitimacy of the test and if it was negative, I would try to find hope in telling myself the test had been done too soon. There would be no sense in POAS too soon with me. I think that C would have had some POAS-itis, but I asked her not to test. Then I told her that if she wants to be testing, that I do not want to know about it. But then, it would be weird for her to know that I am expecting and not me. C, ever the understanding person, agreed not to test until I was ready. 
So, we waited quietly. I was quite obsessed with what might be the outcome. But, it was summer and I was still on a lot of medications. EllaGrace and I went to my grandmother's cottage where I spent time with my cousins and cousins-in-law, enjoying all of our children playing together and napping. I did my best to be distracted. 
Eventually, as we approached the end of the two weeks, though I am not sure when - maybe 8 or 10 days after the transfer, I texted C. I told her that I am in no rush, but if she wants to POAS I would be ready for the result. As for me, I had one old POAS test sitting in the bathroom that I could use one morning if I had the guts. 
Even in writing this, knowing very well how the story goes, I can bring butterflies to my stomach and tension to my shoulders. Waiting for news like that, after everything we had been through can be so difficult... 
xx

Transfer Day

On Day 5, Lee, C, and I got into the car and headed to Toronto. C and I both drugged as per protocol so that our uteruses were baby-making-friendly (read: bloated!). We anticipated how things would go. The doctor did not want more than one embryo transferred to each of us. In my case, the risk of twins was simply too high - no doctor would support putting me at risk of having twins again. And, in C's case, they did not want to put two embryos in, because then we might have three or four babies. The doctor explained that if something were to go wrong due to a high risk/high order multiple pregnancy, when I was also pregnant, that she would have difficulty justifying her decision. However, Lee and I knew that we wanted a positive pregnancy test. Neither of us (and I doubt C) wanted to have a negative pregnancy test and then do another embryo transfer in the months ahead. We wanted a positive pregnancy test as soon as possible. And, in our experience, given that we see making a family as difficult, the faster the better. Three babies would be better than one. One or two, better than none. We walked in to the clinic prepared. Or, so we thought.
This happened to be the one time that the clinic was running ahead of schedule. I overheard a nurse mention a transfer not arriving, so I offered that she might be looking for me. She immediately scolded us for being late (we arrived on the dot!), and sent us into a room to change our clothes. We were told to put on gowns, caps, slippers, and masks. 
As we were rushed into a room to change, the doctor dropped in, and hurriedly explained that we had five amazing embryos. She explained that three had received the top mark from the embryologist and the embryoscope and that two had the second highest grading. She explained that pregnancy rates between any of the embryos was none existent; these embryos had the best chances of turning into babies. She then recommended that we transfer one to each of us. She then explained that there is a risk that if two transferred to C, that one could split, creating triplets - a risky pregnancy. She spoke quickly, she shared statistics, and she successfully scared us. We had arrived cool, calm, collected, and decided. And in a few short minutes we had been made vulnerable and unsure of ourselves. She then left us alone to discuss, and we really needed to because we had been scared! She came back one moment later and asked if we were ready. When we said we were not, she explained that the transfer needed to take place now, or be quite delayed, as she had other appointments! It seemed as though we were being asked to make significant decisions about our life, the risks we were willing to take to build our family, in short little moments. So, we hurried, and off we went to the procedure room.
In my mind, C was the first to have a transfer done. Lee and I sat beside her, as she lied there waiting. When the doctor entered the room she asked our decision and we told her: two embryos to C and one to me. Through a small half-door in the wall, kind of like going to a drive through window, she 'ordered up' two of our embryos. She then turned to us, and re-explained the risks. She then informed us that we would have to agree to a selective termination if this occurred. Basically, she waited until we were in a most vulnerable position and asked that we promise to abort some of the fetuses if there happened to be three or more. I challenged her one this. She simply said that she needed this information in order to proceed. I turned to C, who I knew would not be comfortable with such a procedure, and said to her that if I were her, I would tell the doctor what she needed to hear because ultimately no one could ever enforce such a promise. So, C promised. We all signed the paper. And then they began to prepare for the embryo transfer.
It was in these quiet moments of waiting and anticipation that it hit me. Not the wonderful, kindness that C was offering. Not the excitement of trying to get pregnant. Grief. I was sitting here, putting our own embryos into another woman. I was asking her to grow my children because I was not sure that I could. And, if I could not, i was not sure that I would survive another infant loss. I thought of Maggie and the tiny, low in my abdomen, squirm that I felt as her last movement before I held her. I pictured Patrick squirming in the NICU's incubator. And and remembered holding them as they died. I hung my head beside C and Lee and wept. Huge sobs escaped me, sobs I had not heard since we had their 'goodbye'. I did not want this, I wanted them. I could not believe this was where our story was taking us. I was so scared it would not work, and probably, also so scared that it would. My heart broke for my babies and for me. It was not that I was not thankful for C, but in that moment, I was overcome with the images of my babies... the doctor, not so gentley, told me to re-group myself and moved forward with the day. They showed us the embryos on the television screen: two tiny little cell clusters, first pictures of what could become babies. And then a tube and ultrasound watched as they were delivered into C's nice, cushy uterus for hopefully the next nine months. 
When it was my turn, I was less emotional. Terrified it would work. The doctor in fact, more than once and including on that day, had suggested that I not do a transfer at all. She wanted to protect me from grief. I did too, but also knew that I was not ready to give up on helping to grow our family. So, I lied down in the bed, and went through the same thing with a single embryo. We took its photograph and watched it be delivered into my uterus. 
And then it was done. Certainly no fireworks or magic. Just modern science and desperate mother. 
xx

The Waiting Game

Once the egg is fertilized, the new little embryo is monitored to see how it grows. And embryologist does this by checking a certain number of times daily. It is marked down how fast and well the embryo cells seem to be dividing. This is then compared against what is considered 'perfect'. In our treatment cycle in 2013 all of our embryos were of poor quality by day five. But they had survived to day 5 which is a good thing.
This time around, our clinic offered a new and improved technology. The Embryoscope. This is essentially a time lapse video that is constantly monitoring the growth of the embryo. It provides to-the-minute information about how well, or poorly, each embryo is growing. Given that we had just invested so much time and emotional energy into producing the eggs and embryos, we were not able to overlook this opportunity - especially since the embryos had been of poor quality last time. We wanted the extra insight and did not mind the extra cost. What's another penny in the bucket anyways, right?! (Helicopter parenting at its finest! I made sure my offspring were not left alone literally from the moment of conception!)
Each day we would wait for the the phone call from the clinic with a report card. Given the emotional exhaustion, drug recovery, new drug protocol, and nearly paralyzing fear that this would all go poorly starting now, the wait was not an easy one. Amazingly, each phone call we received was positive. In some cases the embryo transfer is done on day 3, like if the clinic is not sure any embryos will survive until day 5. But, we were told that we would be waiting until day 5. Wait we did. 
I played with my daughter. Chatted with my family. Fantasized about having lots of healthy embryos (and thus opportunities to try to get me and C pregnant). Imagined C getting pregnant. But also, imagined having two poorly embryos left and having little hope. I imagined negative pregnancy tests.
In the mean time, Lee went home again, and returned with C. 
Their arrival, the evening of Day 4, was surreal. Here is this woman who has been taking drugs and giving herself injections all so that she can try to become pregnant with my child. She was sitting there in my grandmother's living room, chatting with my family like it was a typical day. And yet, the conversation was about number of embryos to transfer, fears, excitement... It was so wonderful to have the stop-over in Orillia (my hometown) because it meant that C had the opportunity to meet my family. They welcomed her openly, as I knew they would. I wanted her to see the whole family that was thinking of her, and thanking her, and grieving with us. I am a firm believer in 'it takes a village to raise a child' - I wanted C to see my village, Patrick and Maggie's grieving village, and the village that is waiting with open arms and sad hearts for another baby, one that she was going to help bring. She would be at the centre of the village. How amazing is that? 
xx

The Retrieval

Here is a quick definition of what happens during an egg retrieval: the medical team provides you with enough narcotics to be able to feel discomfort, but also be out of it (conscious sedation, technically speaking). Then a long needle is placed through the wall of the vagina, using ultrasound to navigate, and travels to the ovaries. The needle is then inserted into the ovary to access each follicle (like 20 or 30). The follicle is drained using a little, tiny medical vacuum, the contents of which are caught in a test tube and sent to an embryologist who counts how many eggs are retrieved, and of them, how many are mature. Then they use microscopes and tools to place one good sperm into each good egg. This is called ICSI, and costs more money. Some people can just have an egg and sperm placed in the same petri dish, but no doctors think that would work for us. And, in all seriousness, we have just gone through all of this, to still leave the fertilization to nature?! I don’t think so.

Needless to say, I was nervous. I have gone through an egg retrieval before (the cycle that resulted in Patrick and Maggie). It did not feel good. But also, they gave more drugs. During that cycle they gave me anti-anxiety medications the day before and the day of, as part of the protocol. But Toronto, in true city-style, just said, see you Friday morning. I was nervous that their rushed, nonchalant ways would mean less pain management for me. I guess I was extra nervous.

When we arrived I was asked to prepare myself, while my husband went to provide his ‘specimen’. Being left alone in a medical setting did not feel good. As soon as he left I began to cry. I was nervous about the procedure. I was nervous about the outcome. Everything. The nurse asked about medications I was taking (only what they were prescribing), how I had managed with narcotics in the past (horribly). When the nurse began to prepare my arm for my IV I felt even more upset. I had not been medically treated since I was in the hospital having the twins; the last IV I had was to help treat sepsis. I cried really hard. The nurse tried to engage me, asking if I was nervous about the needle. I responded that the last time I had had an IV I had sepsis and my babies died. She reassured me that I was young and would have more children.  As if children are like jeans? I can just get some more? And I am young, so it will be easy? None of this has ever felt ‘easy’ to me. Not physically and not mentally. (To say nothing of the finances and the secondary stress from that).  So, I sat there crying as she continued to prepare for the IV insertion. She asked if she should come back. Over-whelmed by the entire situation and the loss of the babies, I pointed to my face and told her “this isn’t going to stop.” So, she returned to her original questions, am I taking any anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medications? Now, I had already answered this question. Also, it signals to me a possible (profound) discomfort with the expression of negative emotion. Or some sort of over-diagnosing-world assumption: this patient is crying because she has babies die, she must need a clinical diagnosis and to be medicated. As if crying makes me unstable? I believe I was well within my rights to cry that day – and any day. But, simply because I cry for Patrick and Maggie, does not mean that I need to be medicated. In fact, I might argue that allowing myself to have those moments has been important in my healing (not that it’s done yet). Anyways, she got the IV in very easily, and then finally offered something helpful: Ativan. I decided to accept. And then, things were better!

The Ativan made me feel a bit… intoxicated. I think I giggled. This is also around when my memory begins to blur. As it turns out, the narcotics they gave me were highly effective, so much so that they wiped my memory from before I took them to a good day or two afterwards!

I know that the procedure did hurt at the beginning and that I was worried the doctor would work too fast (since everything in that clinic is too fast). Lee tells me that I asked her to go slowly and to try not to hurt me. I was asleep for most of the procedure. (As I review this, Lee explains that I was not sleeping, just had my eyes closed. He suggests it would have all been easier if I was asleep!) I asked Lee to count for me so that I could focus on my breath to remain calm. I have vague recollections of that. I remember them trying to wake me and tell me to breath: the oxygen measurement showed that I had stopped breathing. I think it was a startling moment for Lee, but in fact, the clip had simply fallen off my finger.

Lee also tells me that the tube and test tube collecting all the eggs was being held by a woman just behind my doctor. This seems dicey to me; what if she sneezes? Or drops it? He said that during the procedure there was the sound of something falling to the floor. He said the doctor immediately stopped working and said “what was that?” As it turns out, he had dropped my glasses on the floor.(He confirms that this is true, and laughs).

When I was out of the procedure, and waking, I was back in my little cubicle with Lee. I do know that this procedure was the first time that I got to hallucinate! The circles on the hospital curtain were dancing. Lee tells me I also hallucinated the closet changing, but I do not have the pleasure of remembering that. He also reminds me that I demanded that he sing along with the radio loudly, but that he refused. I do not think I was particularly polite about his refusal. I will say this about the drugs – Toronto does it better! It hurt less, I remember less, I hallucinated more, and the anti-nausea they gave me worked wonders. Thank you big city.

We had to walk back to the car after the procedure, first stopping at a pharmacy. I do not remember much about the pharmacy. I do seem to recall having poor balance but not staying close to Lee as he was suggesting. Once in the car I think I mostly slept. In the day or two that followed we received information about how the procedure went, what medications to start and stop, and how many eggs were retrieved. I had to ask Lee over and over again. I even remember him getting frustrated that I was repeating myself, but whatever was in my system was not allowing me to retain that information.

Eventually I learned that they retrieved about 20 eggs and that 12 were mature. These were similar numbers to that of my last treatment cycle and I worried. Had we just gone through all of this treatment, new drugs, new clinic to have the same outcome? This cycle’s drugs had cost us more than all of my previous cycles combined. It is a waiting game. 

xx

Short and Long, Busy and Quiet

I mentioned earlier, that it was 10 days of active treatment, but felt longer. On day 12 is the retrieval. On day 14 or 16 is the embryo transfer. Then two weeks later is the pregnancy test. In all of that I went to the clinic on average, every other day. Lee brought me to Toronto on the 21/22, and returned the following weekend (and C came as well) (June 28/29). Lee left on July 1^st and returned on the 3^rd. On the 2^nd I packed up in Toronto and went to Orillia because I knew the appointments would be less frequent and I could be with family who know EllaGrace and I a little bit better. On the 4^th Lee and I drove to Toronto and back to Orillia. He went home on the 6^th of July and returned, with C, on the 8^th. On the 9^th all of us drove to Toronto, then back to Orillia. Then he and C went home again.

As much as the first 10 days is only a part time job, the drugs are daily. The emotional strain is by the minute. And, when I was not at the clinic, I was trying to have EllaGrace enjoy the visit. We went to the aquarium, a splash pad, the zoo, the mall, my cousin’s house, Pride events, …  but, we also napped most afternoons.

It was short and it was long. It was busy and it was quiet. And, it was hard. It never left my mind that I was doing all of this because Patrick and Maggie died, as was C. And, I was doing all this, in this way, so that I might never have to lose hope the way I did when they died. 

xx

C in the City

The wonderful C had to visit the city twice during treatment: once to see how she was doing on the drugs and a second time for the embryo transfer. The first appointment she had is called a ‘lining check’. This is an ultrasound to ensure that her uterine lining is becoming nice and ‘fluffy’ with the help of all the oral hormone medications she is taking. It was agreed that she would travel by train and stay with EllaGrace and I at my Aunt and Uncle’s home (they were so accommodating, what a shame I was such a drugged-up hermit while I was there!).

There are so many different types of relationships with surrogates, but I have to say that mine with C is the best. Some surrogates would expect the train, a taxi, a hotel, restaurant meals, etc. And, to be clear, I always do my best to offer whatever C wants. In this case, she was willing to take the train, subway, walk, and then share a double bed with EllaGrace and I! Amazing! (Had I known that she was actually nervous of public transit and walking in the city, I would not have had her do all that!). Bonus for timing though, her lining check coincided with some of World Pride, so we had fun after the clinic.

Of all the things that I fear – or assume – will go wrong, C reacting poorly to the medications was not on my list. She seems to have a stellar uterus. So, she joined me for the morning trek to the clinic. Now I was more accustomed to the busy vibe of the clinic and knew how and where to sign each of us up, like an old pro! We played with EllaGrace in the waiting room (all three of us crawled into the plastic playhouse, where the air conditioning seemed not to reach, and sweated it out while we played and then crawled out when they called our names – again, C rocks!). This was the same day that Lee was arriving, so we kept our eyes open for him.

C had her ultrasound and everything was looking great. Her lining measured 11 mm and had a B pattern. The mm simply reflects the thickness, and you want a nice soft landing spot for the embryo. The B pattern – we do not know what it means, we never were given a clear answer.

That day the nurses also taught C how she would administer her next phase of medications, to be started after the embryo transfer: Progestrone shots. Kind of infamous. The progrestrone is in oil, thus quite a thick liquid. This means pushing it out of a needle and absorbing it into the body is not easy. It goes into the same targets I had been working with all cycle on my back. Poor C. I thought she might change her mind about being our surrogate right then. She knew it was coming, but she looked so white and scared. But, thank our lucky starts, she rallied and said she would ask her partner to give her the shots as much as possible. I got my doses injected for the day and then we were off to Pride and then she caught her train home again. 

xx

Treatment Phase

In reminiscing with Lee, he agreed that he was stressed about the sudden start of treatment and my re-location to Toronto. He told me that the hardest part for him was figuring out where I would stay. I have family in the area, but finding somewhere that they wanted my daughter and I, in a space and location that is feasible for me… he remembers worrying that I would be living in a hotel room for a month. In the end it was decided to stay with an aunt and uncle who kindly allowed us into their home even though they were packing for an upcoming move.

I remember being nervous, not so much about treatment itself, but about logistics. Would I be able to manage the public transit with our daughter and myself all medicated? Would we manage nap times? Would I be able to do all my own injections? Or, would someone be willing to help? Really the scariest thing was that I was going to do this on my own. It was a new clinic, a new drug protocol, new administration of drugs, new city… and, on top of all of that, I do not always react well to the drugs. My aunt will tell you that once I was much like a zombie, taking ages to cut cheese for a snack. My husband will tell you that I would cry like an 8 year old because I did not want to wake up and other times that I would experience something like rage, but certainly cry for no reason either way. And now I would be with family who are not so familiar with all of that. And parenting by myself. In Toronto. I certainly did not think that this would be ideal, but it was the best I could manage.

Lee brought our daughter and I to Toronto on the weekend of June 21/22. He got us set up with my Aunt. We walked along the Danforth. But, before treatment started at all, he had to leave because of work. On Monday June 23^rd 2014 I went to my first treatment appointment. My aunt had agreed to come with EllaGrace and I, so that I would have extra eyes when they explained the drug protocol, but the timing just happened to coincide with another appointment she had. She kept EllaGrace busy while I had ultrasound and blood work done and then left. Then I sat for a long chat with the nurse who explained my drugs. In all my previous cycles, the medication was in a small vial that was placed inside a ‘pen’ which had a small needle and clicky button. This time, the nurse began to show me how to mix my drugs.  I remember feeling teary-eyed when she began demonstrating how to mix the drugs. I couldn’t imagine being able to do all of this; everything felt overwhelming. I was exhausted already - And now this? I have to be a chemist/pharmacist too?! She then explained that the needle goes into my back side. Again, how am I meant to do this alone? I had only ever given myself injections in the stomach.  They administered my first dose and agreed to draw circles on my back so that I would have targets. Let the fun begin!

Lee visited on weekends or when it was required for procedures. We were lucky to be in Toronto for World Pride, which we attended with some aunts. I remember just waiting for his visits; it always made such a difference. During the week I would have to return to the clinic every 2 or 3 days. As the drugs accumulated in my system, as did the stress, I became exhausted. I slept as long as EllaGrace did each afternoon. Traveling to the clinic was a challenge at the beginning only because it was hot out. I would strap EllaGrace on to my back; I walked the ~10 minutes to the subway station and could usually get on the first train without much struggle due to rush hour. However, it was incredibly hot. I remember feeling the sweat dripping down my back, EllaGrace touching my skin, and feeling so tired. As treatment progresses, the ovaries enlarge and I have to become more cautious. As a result I had to stop wearing EllaGrace and switch over to the stroller. This was nice for my body as I no longer felt like a sweaty pack horse carrying her, toys, snacks, medications, notes, etc. However, it is not easy taking a stroller on the subway towards downtown Toronto during rush hour. Moreover, it is particularly unhelpful that not all of the subway stations are wheelchair/stroller accessible and that the ones that are designated as such are under construction – on several occasions I had to ask EllaGrace to walk on the stairs while I lugged the stroller up or down. It was simply exhausting.

The other reason it was always a relief to have Lee arrive, was that I was trying so hard to manage all of my emotions and side effects pleasantly, as I knew that EllaGrace and I visiting my aunt and uncle for so long was not easy on them. I noticed that while I was in their home I was withdrawn. I spent much of my time watching shows on my laptop with headphones or sleeping. When Lee would arrive, be present, or leave, I would cry. It has been ,through our struggles particularly in the last year and a half, our babies’ deaths and this treatment cycle that I have realized how much I rely on him for all kinds of support and how lucky I am that he strives to be so present and caring. I am lucky to have him. But, I was not lucky enough to have him through the whole cycle! If it had been Lee and I, as usual, I know I would have cried trying to do my medications each morning. The mixing of the drugs never went as smoothly as it did for the nurses. I often lost drops here and there. Then I would lose some in how I was administering the dose. I remember trying to do it with my aunt and just wanting to cry or throw them or something…

When all was said and done, I took the medications for 10 days. It felt like 30. I was put on Menopur and Bravelle in order to cause hyper stimulation in my ovaries – essentially they want as many follicles growing in your ovaries as possible (within safe limits). They use ultrasound the track the growth of the follicles, there is an average size which is most likely to have a mature egg. The drugs are often increased and decreased in dose to manipulate the growth. Another drug, Cetrotide, is used to prevent the body from ovulating naturally. With some women, including myself, there is a risk of Ovarian Hyper-Stimulation Syndrome wherein the woman can become quite ill due to the treatment; I was on a special diet to help decrease the risk of this (chips was on the list – yay!). Then, on day 10, they use another drug, Ovidril, to trigger ovulation. Once that is administered the eggs must be removed around the 36 hour mark. I triggered on July 2^nd 2014 and was scheduled for egg retrieval on July 4^th 2014. And, to be clear, yes, all of those are needles. And, yes, I did feel like a pin cushion. 

xx