It’s been seven days since we began our “official” IVF treatment. I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with some kind of funny, witty, poignant opening, but honestly, I can’t think of anything.

I. Am. Exhausted.

You know, you can read all the books and follow all the blogs and ask everyone who has come before you what to expect, but I’ve come to realize fertility treatment is one of those things where you just don’t know until you’re experiencing it.

Don’t get me wrong – I am still thrilled and excited to the very core that we are finally doing this and the knowledge that I will soon be PREGNANT (God and science willing) carries me through. I just didn’t think it would be this tough. I thought my excitement would make it all so easy. But IVF is hardcore. You put your body through a LOT in a pretty short span of time.

My attitude for the past week has pretty much been, “I’ll do what I have to do and I will not complain.” What cause do I have to complain, knowing what a gift we have been given to try and become parents?

But sometimes – I want to complain. Again, not because I’m ungrateful or unhappy, just because some parts of this journey suck. Point blank, it sucks out loud.  

I’m tired. My stomach is bruised and battered and sore from multiple daily shots. I have permanent sticky spots on my arm from the bandages after bloodwork every other day. I feel vulnerable every morning that I have to go to an ultrasound and let someone jam a probe into me.

And you know what? It’s okay to feel this way. It’s human. I’m human. I think you would have to be a robot or some kind of sociopath to not feel something going through this.

Because no matter how I feel right now, there’s something inside me that makes it all worthwhile: Hope.

Hope that in about nine months, Steve and I will be holding our firstborn child. Hope that our dreams are coming true. Hope that I can look into Little Test Tube’s eyes and smile and say, yes, you were worth it all. And I would do it all over again for you. 

Until then, I’ll do what I have to do.

That’s my advice to you, my fellow Infertility Warriors – do what you have to do. But let yourself feel whatever you have to feel. None of your feelings are wrong. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

Anyway, that’s my emotional spiel. On to the technical side of things:

What I’ve been Doing This Week:

 The first week of IVF treatment focuses on one thing: Stimulating the ovaries to get as many follicles (eggs) as possible.

I’m on an ‘antagonist’ protocol. What this means is I inject two drugs per day – gonatropins (Gonal-F) and menotropins (Menopur). They “antagonize” the ovaries into overproduction of follicles. The more follicles you have, the more that can be removed and fertilized and hopefully make it into healthy embryos.

And they WORK.

Know how I know this? The ultrasounds and bloodwork? Well, yes. But I can also tell due to the fact that I have bloated like a week old corpse (THERE’s my sense of humor! I knew it wasn’t gone for good)

Seriously. I can no longer fit into my pants. I had to wear dresses to work all week and buy new underwear that wasn’t cutting off my circulation. That’s because my ovaries have bloated into the size of a bunch of grapes and there’s really only so much room in there. Oof. I already LOOK pregnant. It’s not terribly painful, but I’ve had some decent cramping, too. I’d equate it with a really bad gas pain.

I’m super fatigued, too. I feel like an old lady because I’ve been out cold by 10:30PM since we began.

But I had an ear to ear grin this morning when I looked up at the ultrasound screen and saw those twelve little follicles. Okay, maybe I was also crying - but in my defense I'm really hormonal and as I said to the tech, "they're such CUTE little balloons!"

There's the hope. 

What Happens Next?

I had an ultrasound this morning and I have twelve maturing follicles and I am hopeful that we will get a few more than that.

I continued the Gonal-F and Menopur and added a third drug, Cetrotide, which prevents the ovaries from releasing any eggs. We don’t want them going anywhere before we’re ready for them.

The doctor believes we are close to “triggering” – a fancy way of saying I’ll give myself a shot that will prepare the ovaries to release the eggs. Once that happens, we will go to Grand Rapids for the egg retrieval.

I will be going back for another ultrasound and bloodwork first thing in the morning and we will see where it stands then. 

Wildberry Pie

I’ve finally had a weekend free all to myself. Sleep in, shop, and veg out in front of the TV.  So what did I decide to do? Bake. And cook. And Can. The kitchen currently smells like a combination of cucumbers and pickling spice, roast pork, and the remnants of buttery crust and fresh fruit.

I baked this Wildberry Pie on Friday for dessert. We had my in-laws over to grill burgers, and I was (as always) in charge of dessert.