Things really were going too well for us.
At the retrieval, they only got 5 eggs. I don't know how many of those were mature, and we don't get fertilization reports so we won't know how many fertilized, how many grew to be embryos...nothing, until the transfer on Wednesday. That is, IF there is a transfer. With a shitty number like 5, there's a good chance there won't be. Out of 10-12 follicles, only 5 eggs were there. That's a terrible prognosis. Really terrible. People can say "it only takes one" until the cows come home...statistically, we're fucked. And not just for this cycle. This affects the possibility of any future cycles, whether or not there could possibly be a future cycle. This is one huge step closer to "You cannot have children." FUCK ME.
The retrieval itself was painless and easy. With the exception of the anesthesiologist digging for a vein for about a half hour, until she finally listened when I told her she'd have much better luck with my left hand and was able to find a vein easily. I know my veins. I've had enough blood taken in the past few years that I know the drill well. If I offer both arms to a phlebotomist, they look at my right arm and scream "NO!". It doesn't appear I have any veins in that arm. But I do, clearly, or I wouldn't have any arm function.
Apparently it only took about 15-20 minutes and I woke up gabbing away. I think the anesthesiologist asked me about the pain or how I felt and I said I was just dandy. Then I went on to say how I had a D&C with no anesthetic whatsoever and if I could survive that, I could survive anything...shortly after she called my husband in and said I was still loopy. I hope she didn't think that I was making up the D&C story. Because that's all true and I wear that fucker like a badge of honor. Anyhow, Chris came in, our medical assistant whom we adore came in and we were all chatting and joking as I slowly became more coherent. Apparently I'm pretty entertaining coming off of anesthesia.
Then Dr. R came in an interrupted my performance.
"We only got 5 eggs."
Utter silence in the room.
Me: "Well, that's poopy."
Poopy?? Where the hell do I get these sayings? Why do I turn into a pollyana/blubbering idiot at our clinic? True to my character would have been, "Well that's fucked up." I would have felt better about that, even if it's not always considered appropriate to curse in settings like this. Better than my goodie-goodie response. Why didn't I just say, "Drats. We surely were hoping for a few more! That's crummy, but we'll make do with what we have!" Then Chris would respond with "Darn tootin'!" and a fist pump.
What I really wanted to communicate instead was that I'm pissed. I'm pissed, I'm confused, and this is not at all helping the bitterness I've embraced over the past year from hell. I want Chris to have jumped over the surgical bed and pinned Dr.R down until she gave us a rational and logical reason for why we only had 5 eggs.
I know this isn't necessarily her fault. If this is a result of Empty Follicle Syndrome, she couldn't have known in advance. IVF is sometimes partly a diagnostic tool, and that's definitely the situation in my case. A $12,000 diagnostic tool. But I do want someone to blame and she's the closest. Because if I don't blame her, I have to blame myself, my body and I'm not sure mentally, I can handle that right now. At least I know I did everything I could to make the cycle successful. No caffeine, no alcohol, no smoking, no running, I ate healthy, did acupuncture and mentally stayed as optimistic and relaxed as possible. I don't feel like I could have done anything different so at least I don't have that regret. Then again, what's worse? Regretting actions you have control over, or realized you have no control and you're just broken? More broken than they thought before?
Now we wait.