The Reader's Digest version of Lupron is that it suppresses your own hormones. Hubs administered it twice a day for several days prior to starting with my old friends Follistim and Menopur. And then it was Lupron and Follistim every a.m., and Lupron and Menopur every p.m. That was 4-5 injections every day. For twelve days. As the days passed, virginal abdominal surface area became less and less. The hubs became a little more ballsy with--and deft at--pinching up a little fat just adjacent to bruises. The injections still stung a bit, but this time around I was prepared.
I was not prepared for the bloating that accompanied this new cocktail of fertility drugs. I saw a good 3-5 pound weight gain on the scale over a few days, and was getting dangerously close to developing my very own "muffin top" with certain jeans. Another reason to be thankful I wear scrubs to work. I asked Dr. M if a lot of women complain of weight gain on the Lupron. His response: "not really." Thanks, Dr. M. For all of you ladies who may be doing the Lupron thing: it's not you, it's the hormones. And it will go away. Promise.
After our first IVF, I expected a slow go of it. And my body didn't disappoint. It was SLOW. We passed our previous medication cost and then some. At day 10 of stims my estrogen was finally creeping up into the 400s. But it was ugly. None of the expected "doubling" of E2 levels. In the back of my mind, I was afraid our cycle would be cancelled. When I went in for my ultrasounds, Dr. M indicated things were going very slowly. My right ovary was, per usual, inconspicuous much of the time. Some sessions they didn't even bother probing around for ol' righty to see how many follicles had developed. Even when they did, my follicle count was never more than 6 that cycle.
The Saturday before Labor Day, the hubs and I decided to pack the cooler, our books, and hang out at our pool. That morning's ultrasound had been less than promising. Looking back I can't remember the number of follicles. That afternoon whilst lounging at the pool, our nurse called. Our estrogen had surprisingly increased from the 200s to the 400s. I remembered my husband and I breathing a sign of relief that we were still "on." We clinked our Tervis Tumblers together and stopped fretting for a bit.
Labor Day morning we went in for our day 12 monitoring. Just another early morning holiday/weekend/snowday monitoring session; the life of the infertile. And bless the medical team, who show up smiling every single holiday/weekend/snowday that I've been in the office. The doctor on call did my ultrasound. It was quick and no probing! I remember for a split second thinking "that was easy" before I realized why it was over so fast.
I was naked from the waist down when I heard our fate. "You only have 2 follicles. We don't retrieve for less than 3. Have you considered donor egg?" I sat up and clutched my paper drape. The tears started immediately.
"This was our last chance," I blubbered through the tears. I wanted my husband, my mom, anyone with me who could articulate clearly what this meant for us. This wasn't just a cancelled cycle. This was THE cancellation. The one to end it all. After all of the injections, money, and hoping, we didn't even get to retrieval. Not being my regular doctor, he could offer condolences, but couldn't offer much advice on how to proceed. I would see Dr. M again the next morning to discuss things.
I was numb on the way home. I could tell my poor sweet hubs was trying to think his way through it all. We got home before 8 a.m.--an entire day off stretched before us--and I climbed right back into bed, too scared to even discuss what to do next, and laid there for a few hours before I could get up. In my head it seemed hopeless:
-we'd just spent a lot of money for nothing.
-we'd need to replenish our savings before even considering adoption.
-maybe if we lived like paupers we could do it sooner?
-could one/both of us take a second job/work PRN at a hospital on weekends?
-if we moved straight to adoption, we wouldn't have a "cushion" and I wouldn't be able go to part-time to stay home with our baby.
I had no idea what to hope for anymore.
While I was prepared for a BFN after transfer, I was clearly not prepared to fail out of the cycle before retrieval. I was not prepared to be denied the last chance that we'd been building up to, physically as well as emotionally.
I felt utterly robbed. And for that day, I felt that nothing would ever be okay again.
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