Harvesting

Some good news, folks. It was Egg Collection Day yesterday and they sucked five eggs out of me, four of which turning out to be mature. And of those four a whopping 4 fertilised. Yay!

The Nurse said it’s rare to have 100% fertilisation. Seems my eggs and The Partner’s wrigglers really are good and strong, they must just have had a bit of trouble finding each other when we were trying the alternative method of getting pregnant (you know: sex.) Anyway, the four fertilised eggs will now get to lie back and grow in a petrie dish down in IVFland’s science labs for the next five days. So think happy thoughts to them, so they can all become viable little embryos.

Egg Collection Day is, in many ways, the peak of the IVF ride. It’s what all those injections have been leading up to. It’s the Point of No Return. The pivotal moment the results of which determine the course for the rest of the ride. Otherwise known in our household as Harvest Day, or “knock Kate out with a general anesthetic, stick needles in her bits, suck everything from her egg follicles and see what comes out” Day, but lets not get too detailed about it, hey.

So I got myself up at 4am, as instructed, to have The Last Meal – something microwavable and a cup of tea – before fasting until the afternoon when the procedure was scheduled. (You’ll notice I didn’t live-blog The Last Meal. I didn’t even photograph it for you. That was because IT WAS 4AM AND I WAS TIRED.) Then I hung about until we headed down to the IVF day surgery, where we met with pretty much every medical expert they have on staff.

No, really. We met with a nurse, an IVF scientist, a doctor, another nurse, another doctor/the anaesthetist, the girl who takes the money at reception, and somebody else in a white coat who came by mistake into the admissions room where we were,  looking for somebody else called Rachel. The greater part of the experience was spent, for me, in a hospital gown – yes, the kind that splits in the back – and waiting with some eagerness to see what a general anesthetic would be like, because I’ve never had one before. I’ve never been in hospital before, not even for a day procedure.

The greater part of the experience for The Partner was spent laughing at me in a hospital gown. He took a picture. Wanna see?

Yes, that’s me, modelling this season’s latest trends in hospital-gown-wear. Just be glad you didn’t get the back shot.

Anyway, it was all a very new experience, and all very intriguing. Going into the surgery was a bit daunting. Rather than some contained, sterile white room, it was a gaping space with equipment everywhere and lots of be-gowned people moving about, shifting said equipment. I lay on the bed and tried not to notice the stirrups down at the leg end, while the anaesthetist stuck a thing in the back of my hand, and then I lay there waiting to see what would happen next. After a little while there was a bit of a wobble in my vision, at which I thought ‘oh, that must be the beginning of it, let’s see what comes next’ and then…

…I was being woken up in the recovery room. I feel only a little bit cheated in not being able to stand back and observe the experience of being anaesthetised, what with my being anaesthetised and all.

The Partner thought I was hilarious for the rest of the day, moving in slow-motion and acting half stoned even after I was up and walking about again. Once he got me home I slept for more than twelve hours. And that, my freaky friends of the internet, was egg collection.

Now it’s wait a few days and see how the embryos grow. Oh, and start using the Crinone gel from Thursday night. The one I’m told most women hate worse than any other part of the experience, hmmm…

Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated on all the gorey details.

Kind Regards

The Patient

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Published in: on March 1, 2011 at 3:57 pm  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. It’s an amazing and exciting outcome.Congratulations to all involved.Sending happy thoughts and prayers your way.xx

  2. […] 14.  Harvesting […]


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