The closest I've ever gotten to a picture of my own baby is a print-out of the eleven follicles growing in my ovaries prior to my first egg retrieval. There they were, listed by size in millimeters, little follicles in the right ovary, then the left. It came from the same ultrasound machine they use for women who are actually pregnant with babies. It felt official. And I was hopeful.
My sweet boy and I spent several months following our consult with our reproductive endocrinologist (Dr. M) trying out intrauterine insemination (IUI). This was covered 50% by our insurance. Fantastic! We also found out we had zero coverage for IVF. I remember writing that down as an afterthought when I spoke to the Blue Choice rep. Again, naively, I believed we wouldn't need to go that far. I had some minor diminished ovarian reserve. I was healthy. I was under 35.
There were daily injections, from around the time my cycle started through ovulation. I felt pretty grown-up that I could inject myself (although the hubs still had to push the plunger down). No pain associated. Minimal if any body or mood changes. Every other day (and sometimes daily) bloodwork and ultrasounds to monitor follicle development and time the insemination with ovulation. The first try hubs and I both really thought this would work. How could it not? Between the doctors, nurses, and residents in on the goings-on in my ovaries, we were certain this was our time. We did everything right. I abstained from drinking, Tylenol, NSAIDs, caffeine. Dr. M inseminated me with millions of the hubs' grade A boys, I shook his hand, thanked him, and then he said "good luck." When he said that, I felt a little anxious. Would I need luck? This is down to a science, how can it not work?
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