Over Easy
Previous post: Prick a Little, Balk a Little
And just like that, we’re done.
I had my retrieval on Friday — the earliest morning yet, but also the last.
Wednesday evening, the clinic called to let me know it was go time. Time to give myself my “trigger shot,” which seems to be a misnomer they’re hell-bent on maintaining, considering that it is in fact two trigger shots (and two very expensive ones, at that).
I knew I was not allowed to eat or drink anything after midnight the night before the procedure, but they also gave me a list of things I was not allowed to wear during it, including but not limited to contact lenses, makeup, deodorant, and anything with any kind of fragrance whatsoever. I assumed this last one was in case the surgeon had allergies, but it turns out fragrances can be toxic to the eggs. WHO KNEW.
So with literally zero components of my morning routine available to me, I set an alarm for 6 a.m. and was in a cab to the Upper East Side by 6:10.
Check-in at 7, retrieval at 8. Back in bed by 10.
This was my first experience with twilight sedation, and I have to say, I am a BIG fan. (What this actually means, to the best of my understanding, is that I’m a big fan of Valium. I guess that’s not shocking.) They got me settled on the table and put in the IV, telling me, “This works very quickly.”
After about five seconds I remember thinking, “Uh oh, I don’t feel anything. Shit, does that mean it’s not working? Oh my god, am I going to be awake for this???” Leave it to this kid to take an anesthesiologist’s reassurances as something to panic about.
Next thing I knew, I was feeling gloriously relaxed and sleepy and calm. It took me several minutes to realize I was waking up, not falling asleep. It was already finished. I have no sense of any time having passed whatsoever.
They told me, once I had regained my senses, that they were able to extract 10 eggs. Considering that my absolute best case was around 12, that’s not bad at all. They would call me the next day to tell me how many of those 10 were mature, and could thus be frozen.
I was given water and graham crackers, and then I was released. I felt bone tired and a tiny bit crampy, but otherwise fine. And I woke up the next morning to a voicemail telling me that all 10 eggs were mature. This is somewhat uncommon, but I’ve always been an overachiever.
Being able to freeze 10 eggs is a huge relief, in that it means I can (and most likely will) opt out of doing another round, without too much fear of coming up short. Fifteen would be better, but 10 is pretty good. Especially since IVF technology — what I’ll ultimately be relying upon to turn egg into baby, if and when the time comes — is improving every day.
So for now, and probably forever, it’s over. All in all, I’m amazed at how easy the whole thing was.
Mind you, I’m thrilled at the prospect of never having to do it again. The cost is what one might reasonably describe as “prohibitive,” and there’s no question the injections were a bummer. They consumed a frustrating amount of time, some of them hurt, and from time to time my squeamishness kicked in and almost caused me to pass out.
For the visual learners, here’s the needle breakdown in spreadsheet form. Yes, I kept track.
But even with all the injections and the expenses and the early mornings, it never surpassed the level of “kind of a drag.” I didn’t have any real symptoms, and the whole thing took a week and a half. I’ve had colds that were worse. Hell, I’ve had periods that were worse.
And now? Now we wait. Or rather, now I live my life, free from the biological ties that bind. Free from the garbage social norms that tell us women in their 30s had better get down to business. Free from the never-ending debates and reductionist thinkpieces about whether we can “have it all.” Or as free as I’ll ever be.
Free to focus on me. Free to double down on a career trajectory that hopefully will pay me back for this procedure many times over. Free to resume my joyful days filled with good friends, and coffee, and wine, and countless hours watching Netflix with my cat, with no one to answer to but myself.
Free to hold out for the person I want to raise one of these eggs with, rather than settling for one who will do, or throwing in the towel and going it alone.
Things haven’t turned out the way I planned. And for that, I couldn’t be more thankful.
