The First Egg Pick-up

“I’m sorry hun, they are still not ready.” The nurse says as she slides the ultrasound stick out of my, well, you know what.

I stare numbly at the screen.

I can see black fluid-filled sacks that look like a cluster of grapes; those are my ‘follicles’ and they are growing VERY slowly.

“How long does it normally take?” I ask.

She shrugs. Everyone is different and I know that, but I want to know what ‘average’ is; and after 3 weeks of injections I know that I am NOT average. My other friends that are only a couple weeks ahead of me were ready to have their eggs picked up in 5-7 days.

On the way home I perform my ‘mandatory’ cry; my psychologist would be proud. Then I wipe my tears and ‘radically accept’ that I have no control.

I become robotic as I inject myself twice daily.

Every other day I go in for a transvaginal scan.

FINALLY, after a little over 3 weeks, my follicles are measuring big enough. I have 5-6 on the left side and only 1 on the right. The cyst/endometrioma on my right ovary is starting to grow back, unfortunately, so they start me on antibiotics just to be safe.

Hope is slowly growing inside a little dark corner of my heart. Normally I suppress it, but for some reason I watered it a little bit this time. Maybe it was because I watched both of my friends get pregnant on their first cycle, only 2 weeks ahead of me, and I naively thought, “Maybe that could actually happen to me.”

The day for ‘Egg Pick-Up/Retrieval’ finally arrives.

My husband drives me down to the clinic and I am sitting in a pit of disbelief sprinkled with a dash of excitement. I can’t believe I am finally getting my very first egg pick up for my very first cycle of IVF. It feels surreal and, as usual, there is that overarching disbelief that infertility is actually happening to us; that we are one of the those people.

The clinic I have chosen is cheaper and there is a reason for that. First of all, you mostly see the nurses BUT you also get the pleasure of being AWAKE for the procedure of the egg pick-up/retrieval. When I chose to go public I knew this vital piece of information and I chose to ‘suck it up’. Unfortunately, though, I suffer from chronic pelvic pain and I am in pain almost every day, even prior to the injections and pressure from the swollen follicles.

The day before pick-up I saw my specialised Women’s Health physical therapist for an ‘internal release’. My whole abdomen was swollen from the shift in abdominal fluid that ensues from the growing follicles . I looked like I was pregnant and I could hardly walk. The swelling in my abdomen caused unbearable pain that unfortunately flared up my pelvic pain and pinched my sciatic nerves. The ‘physio’ (as they say in Australia) gently pressed my vaginal wall muscles trying to get them to release. She did the best she could but unfortunately they were too tight and kept spasming. She also put some needles around my pelvis and my back to help release the muscles that were pinching my sciatic nerve. It helped a little, but not nearly enough to prevent the pain that I was about to experience.

When we arrive at the clinic the nurse takes my obs/vital signs and I change into a hospital gown. The nurse sits me in a comfy chair and places a heat pack on my belly to help my muscles relax. I take some Valium to help me relax and also some Tramadol to help with the pain (I’m intolerant to Codeine, unfortunately, which is their usual choice). I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly to calm my racing heart. Before long the doctor comes over with a little green box and pulls out what’s called ‘The Green Whistle’. They use this in ambulances as pain relief for traumas like broken bones and dislocated joints. It is pure liquid inhalation pain relief. Most patients get Entonox, or ‘gas’ (like what your dentist uses, or what we use for labour and delivery), but because of my chronic pelvic pain the doctor says he’s worried that normal gas will not be enough. I tear up and thank him profusely.

The meds have kicked in now so I am a little wobbly as I walk into the little OR/Theatre room. I lay down on the table and they put my legs into stirrups. They hand me the ‘green whistle’ and I take in a deep breath. A bitter, pungent, sweet powder burns the back of my throat and I cough and sputter uncontrollably. My mind rejects the first few breaths of this pungent powder but eventually I get used to it and slow my breath down. As a midwife, who coaches women on how to use gas, I know that I need to actually breathe properly or it will NOT be effective.

Two doctors are present and I am also introduced to the scientist in this state of complete disarray; my feet high up in the stirrups, my bottom half completely exposed and me woozy on drugs……a typical day in ‘the office’ for them. I mutter, “It’s lovely to meet you,” and return to the whistle.

One doctor holds my hand as the other one places the ‘speculum’ (the device they use to open your vagina for pap smears) inside me.

“Okay, I’m starting now,” she warns me, and I feel a horrific piercing pain through my left vaginal wall. I blink back tears and suck harder on the whistle.

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain and more pain.

I’m not sure if I will survive.

“We’re done with the left side. You’re doing great.” They reassure me. I nod and clench my teeth. I am dreading the right side. My right side has always been more painful. Sure enough, she pushes the needle through my right vaginal muscle wall and I can’t stop my tears. They are silent but flowing violently.

I suck harder on the whistle – I’M NOT SURE THIS STUPID THING IS DOING ANYTHING!

I feel so much pain that I think I might pass out. I keep reminding myself that i’ts almost over….it’s almost over….it’s almost over.

The doctor holding my hand says the same thing, “You are doing great,” he assures me. “It’s almost over,” he says, “you’re nearly there.”

I keep crying silently; a flood of tears streams down my face and I keep sucking in the pungent powder.

FINALLY……… it’s done.

“We got 4 eggs,” the scientist beams.

“Is that good?” I ask through my tears.

“We want 3 to 6, ” the doctor says, “so yea, it’s good.”

I sigh with relief. One little win anyways.

They help me off the table and back into the comfy chair with the soothing heat pack. The nurse pats me empathetically and says “You did so well, you didn’t even move. And just so know, ovaries are as sensitive as testicles.” My eyes widen in disbelief. Could you imagine a MAN getting his testicles pierced multiple times, while awake?

I sit back in the chair, relieved that it’s over and snooze for another hour while Jarod anxiously waits outside to see me.

When the nurses told him that I cried through the procedure he burst into tears. On the way home he sobs, “I am so sorry you had to go through babe, I am so sorry you have to suffer so much.”

I start to cry again. His heartache breaks me, even though the painful procedure is over.

The EMOTIONAL and PHYSICAL pain involved in this journey is so complex.

Sometimes it is just too hard to describe.