Posts Tagged ‘sperm donor’

IVF questions from you guys!

August 17, 2012

So, I’ve had a couple of questions regarding our current IVF plans. Both require longer answers and will no doubt be talked through in full detail later, but here’s the quickie version.

How many embryos will we be transferring?

I don’t know. We want one baby this time, though of course you know The Crazy in me would love two. But one is what we are aiming for. In this country, you can transfer two embryos – though one is often recommended. In exceptional circumstances, three may be transferred.

We are not an exceptional circumstance, but we would never transfer three anyway. I guess my current thinking is that if we had an embryo of the same stellar quality of the existing Snort and Coconut, we would transfer one. If the embryos were not as high quality, I guess we’d go for two. It’s sort of a gamble either way, as I know women who had very high grade embryos and IVF did not work….while on the flip side, a set of twins we are very close to was the result of two very low grade embryos.

It’s hard, because IVF costs so much money and is so demanding on time, emotional energy, and physical bodies. It’s a lot to go through to purposely reduce your chances of success. Our last pregnancy the initial tagline could have been, ‘We’d rather have two than none,’ but alongside that was the weird expectation that we’d have twins anyway….and that is an outcome we wanted. We wanted multiples, and we were lucky enough to get them.

I hope we’re as lucky this time around, but perhaps with just one little baby who sticks, grows, thrives, and is born.

Are we using the same sperm donor?

No. We did ask the clinic if his sperm was still available, as we did not purchase ‘sibling sperm’ at the time of our first IVF. I don’t know why not. I think we were just so happy and felt blessed to have two babies growing in me that it eclipsed all other practical considerations.

We would have liked to use the same donor, but he is no longer available. That being said, our baby will be our baby. Love makes a family, and I’m sure whatever donor this third baby (and fourth?? Ha!) has will be the right donor for this time and space.

Prior to having children, I thought it mattered who the donor was. Physical characteristics, intelligence, hobbies. I thought it all mattered. Turns out that, for us anyway, it didn’t. Does not. What matters is the end product, a little person to love and nurture and be amazed by.

Do feel free to ask any other questions. I’ll try to answer them.

Hope you are all well. I’m writing this Thursday night, and as yet have not heard from the clinic. If we haven’t heard by Monday, I’ll call them again then. Our only concerns about IVF this time around are the dates -TMD can’t be officially pregnant before mid to late September for work reasons, so that means an egg collection at the end of September should be okay. (As you are technically pregnant from the date of your last cycle, so that means about two weeks where you are ‘pregnant’ even through there’s no kid in you! Fun facts.)

I’ll be publishing this Friday, which is the first day of Coconut’s new gymnastics class. She’s a short powerhouse who taught herself to do forward rolls at age 1, so I have high hopes she’ll be participating in the next Olympics, should the age requirement be lowered. I want free seats!

Love to you all.

Our egg recipient is preggers, too.

April 16, 2009

Ooh, I feel funny. This is going to be an unfiltered post (well, they ALL are, but this one more than most) as I don’t know what I think/feel about this. Just got the call from the clinic.

And jesus are my eggs ripe. The woman I donated eggs to is pregnant with one baby.

I feel funny about this. Funny dunny.

Once we decided to donate eggs – no, once our IVF cycle was underway, really – I felt a-okay about helping another person. When we received an anonymous card from our egg recipient, I felt amazing and warm and gushy for both her and me. Me, like what an amazing person I am. Her, like – OH MY GOD I might be helping another woman with her dream of having a child. That felt fucking fantastic.

It was only a couple of days ago that a bit of….’something’ creeped in. To be real, I hadn’t really thought much or cared in any but a generic way whether or not the other woman was pregnant. Then all of a sudden I have a tap dancing troupe living in my womb and I find myself caring.

I found myself having the hateful, mean wish that the other woman had not conceived – not because I wished her any evil, but because, well, look at what I am making. These two little babies are part me. And I wondered about that other child – will she/he look like me? Love reading? etc etc  An altogether odd feeling. I kept picturing myself on my tenth birthday; I was an unfortunate looking kid, and I suddenly was wondering about this non-child of mine, walking around with bits of me in him/her. I feel like it’s a her.

This child will be able to contact me when they are 18 years old. It’s odd to think that while my two babies are doing their thing, there is another child exactly their age who is also conceived from my eggs. Am I an awful person for questioning this and feeling this way?

When we wanted a baby, I developed a huge pool of empathy towards other people who were trying to get pregnant. I can’t actually imagine what that other woman must have gone through. Perhaps trying ‘the regular way’ or through IUI for ages, then IVF with their own eggs, then IVF with another woman’s eggs. I hope she loves that baby like a mofo, because some blogs I read where people are conceived via donor eggs have a lot of awkward, awful feeling about having to use a donor.

I find that amazing, because the only negative-ish thought I can conjour up about us using a (sperm) donor is that we don’t know what the guy looks like. The babies are uncontrovertably ours, 100%.


Enough for now, I think my pizza is probably ready.

If I have to leave the house on my own, I will need Crocs because shoes and socks are beyond me at this point.

April 16, 2009

Just booked our one-day multiples antenatal class. For some reason I was having a minor freak out about booking it – so picked up the phone and did it that way. Yesterday I rang these people to join their Exclusive World of Multiple Babies and they were lovely, and they were lovely again today.

Yesterday when I registered I was really impressed by how gender neutral the woman was. She didn’t ask for my husband’s name, she asked for my partner’s name. Now, I know over here ‘partner’ is a widely applied term – but so handy that it doesn’t imply a sexuality along with it. Today I was asked for my husband or partner’s name; I think these people have undergone some training or something because as soon as she said ‘husband’ she kind of choked up and quickly replaced it with ‘partner.’ Nice.

The weird thing?

She referred to TMD as my ‘birth partner’, but she MEANT ‘wife.’ As in, ‘Is this your birth partner’s first child/children as well?’ and ‘Are you the one carrying the pregnancy?’ She also groovily said (not in a nosy way – it was a question I had to answer for the antenatal referral), ‘I assume you used fertility treatments then?’

Anyway. Class booked. Next step is to book into the local hospital’s free class. No doubt it will be …uh….well, you know, I’ll shut my mouth and hope for the best. I don’t think or know if we will sign up for this other series of antenatal classes (private classes through a national charity – everyone in the world goes to them) as the hospital stuff might cover it anyway. I find it all odd as while I would certainly prefer a vaginal delivery, I just don’t know how things will turn out on the day – it’s like this for multiples. I won’t know for a couple of months yet. Maybe one of you can come over and just teach me how to breathe or something.

Other thing is that I heard back from the local multiples club – they have a meeting tomorrow. While no one believes I am a social hermit because I am so fabulously sparkly with people, I totally hate going along to stuff like this without a friend in tow. I was warned by the email lady that tomorrow might be a bit ‘manic’ as it is school holidays so lots of older twins will be there. Yikes.

Apparently there are a few new twins moms there, though, so it would be quite good to get to know people in the area. I was assured that people ‘forge lifetime friendships’ – normally a churchy cult statement like that would put me off, but actually, I wouldn’t mind a few local lifetime friends. But the meeting’s in a church. Gross.

I am really cooking with this whole babies thing. I am also not moping around or hating bedrest as much this week. In fact, I’m starting to enjoy it. I’m now in a dodgy area where I have outlasted my doctor’s sick note and have not extended it – not even sure where it is. Work has not contacted me and I haven’t contacted them, aside from some emails about my scan and a phone call from Green. I had a tearful half hour earlier this week about missing work, but this is what it is.

I’d rather be successfully cooking babies than struggling to make it through the days at work.

I still have some pretty big stuff to sort out – and the first thing(s) are getting a solicitor so we can make a will, as well as taking legal advice about securing TMD’s parental rights. The law here is changing and if we had conceived a few months later we could have both been on the birth certificate. As it stands, we have to work really hard to make sure our family and babies are safe.

I also need to find a dentist. Yuck. I don’t trust dentists here…but then again I’ve never gone.

….Really grey and gloomy outside today. Hardcore mist coming down into our jungle of a back garden. Regardless, I have done more stuff in the past two days than I have in the past two weeks. I also called the clinic yesterday and found out we will receive our donor’s pen sketch when the babies are born. I also asked about the woman I donated eggs to – waiting to hear back about that.

In the meantime, I may go make myself an ice cream cookie sandwich. They don’t have them in this country (horror, shock, disgust!), but I find they are actually a ‘recipe’ that is within the parameters of ‘things I can cook.’

Love to you all.

(Pictures coming later, assuming I can hook up our new memory card/camera to the laptop with no struggles.)

Quickie from the eggy momma.

December 3, 2008

Still super sore and in pain, so this will be a quickie.

Egg collection went well. They got 18 eggs. Of the nine that were destined for me and TMD, 8 were mature. I didn’t ask about how many were mature for the recipient, because from here on in they’re really her eggs.  Hope it was good news, though.

When they defrosted our baby daddy juice, the sample was apparently excellent. Really high motility, etc etc. Because we are doing eggshare, though, they want to give us the best chances so have decided to do ICSI with all 8 eggs. ICSI is injecting a single sperm into each egg.

Glad my eggs were mature. Glad the boy juice is alive and kickin’.

Tomorrow morning they will ring to tell us how many fertilised. A little crazy thinking that our possible future child/children are sitting in an incubator right now.

Would write more, but sitting up is not a good position. Very, very, very sore.

A big thank you to TMD who has gone to every appointment, and was there with me today making me laugh prior to the egg collection  – even though laughing has become a painful thing.

I need to go to try to poop now. Putting in my first progesterone up-the-butt ‘bullet’ (a nurse called it a bullet today and I almost exploded with laughter) in about 25 minutes. This is my second bullet of the day. I made TMD go buy me latex gloves.

Speak to you all soon. Thanks so much for the well wishes and comments on the previous entry. Now we all just need to hope the little babies are developing properly. Will keep you updated.

No matter what they say.

November 28, 2008

Just so I don’t forget one minute of this scintillating TTC drama.

You know I had that dream about the sperm donor? Well, the next night (the one before we got our guy) I had another dream. We got two sperm donor applications. One hand written with a positive pregnancy test taped to it (to prove his fertility?), one giant piece of artwork that had all these philosophical sayings on it. I was pleased with him.

The night after (night three, keep track now!) I had a dream about the egg recipient. She was weird, but not so weird I felt she didn’t deserve my eggs or something.

Night four was last night. I didn’t dream at all, that I remember. Except it turns out that TMD’s boss did – she told TMD she dreamed we’re going to have a little girl.

So that’s it on the dream front. This morning I  made my first IVF ‘friend’ in real life. As TMD pointed out, I don’t ever ever talk to the other women because I’m too busy talking to TMD. This lady was opposite us today in the waiting room, though, and we all launched into discussion. She was envious of our ages, and kept saying she’d waited too long. She said she wished she’d done it when she was younger.

Six failed IUIs, and on her second attempt at IVF. She said she refuses to believe her eggs are too old. She was a lovely old hippy, and all I could think was, ‘I’d give eggs to you.’ I don’t know when I turned all altruistic and stuff, but I DO know that while my crying jags seem to be suppressed since I figured out The Plan, I am in uber pain.

And so tired. Beyond tired.

I am going to leave work soon and end up magically on the same train as TMD. I am probably also going to demand pizza, because TMD keeps saying how amazing I am for doing this for us. Muhahaha. I also have the Thanksgiving card to play.

Yes, that’s a point. About TMD, I mean. The nurse showed us into the office this morning then went to review the scan with the doctor. TMD turned to me and told me how beautiful I was. She said I had appeared glowing and gorgeous through this whole thing, even when I felt mopey. TMD said I looked comfortable in my body, was at a nice weight (she likes the curves, yes she does), and repeated how beautiful I was.

When you find someone who sees your beauty at 8:30 am as you are twisting a piece of paper nervously on your lap, hair all fucked up in a messy ponytail, you have found love. And you know what? I feel beautiful.

I am all bruised and swollen and tired, and I am beautiful.


November 26, 2008

We’ve got a donor, so thank you for all the fingercrossing and good vibes – they helped!

Don’t have too much time to write as about to go in for a session with a client, but ….yay!

TMD called me, squealing and almost throwing up with excitement. The guy is uber smart and definitely not short, so that’s nice. More about him later.

I’m so relieved we turned down the first donor. Boy HOWDY am I. This one ticks all the boxes, including being a physical match for TMD (aside from the fact that she’s shortish.) He also is ‘proven fertility.’

Baby town, here we come.

L, M, N, O, PEE.

November 26, 2008

So, another day in work freakishly early because the clinic appointment was so early. My follicles are looking good. Seven visible on the right, five on the left. She said there  may be more follicles that she hasn’t seen. It was a different lady – very nice, but also very quick. The other one really crams that dildocam in and works it in every direction.

TMD said she was ‘measuring all kinds of stuff,’ so I’m pleased the follicles are big enough to warrant measuring. I asked the lady if they were approaching the right size or still had some growing to do, and she said they still have some growing to do.

I have to say, just between you and me, that I am extremely physically uncomfortable. I am on a train to Ovary Land. I have long passed the station labelled ‘awkward,’ and would say ‘uncomfortable’ is behind as well. We are taking brief forays into ‘pain’, but the train stays pulled into ‘constantly feel like I need to pee as badly as if I’d just woken up’ station most of the time.

Sitting down is..not painful, not uncomfortable – somewhere in between. Same goes for walking, though I’ve developed a nice waddle that sort of helps. Jesus, right?

They can’t verify the egg collection will be Monday. If it’s not Monday, it’ll be Wednesday which totally fucks things up – my leave from work will be screwed up, everything gets messy and uncontainable, etc. Of course I want them to take the eggs when my follicles and lining are ready for it, and I will rearrange everything else, but UGH.

I hate uncertainty.

No word from the clinic re: new donor. The guy we rejected was stapled to the front of my file this morning. I’ve got a crammed schedule, so TMD is going to be in charge of stalking the clinic today. I have Dream Donor in mind but am not aiming for perfection. TMD is really upset that she ‘broke the baby’ because she didn’t like the first donor. It’s all just a bit wobbly at the moment.

I’m feeling stressed. Was bordering on tearful when Joy asked how I was. I have supervision in thirty minutes, and wouldn’t be surprised if the tissue box plays a major part in it.

I just like to be able to schedule things, to have certainty. To know, say, that when my eggs come out there will be sperm to meet them.

Your job? Cross your fingers that we get a super cool donor today, who IS ‘fertility proven.’ Also send some eggy-type vibes my way telling those little fuckers to grow, grow, grow because I’d like to have them up outta me come Monday.

I said to TMD, ‘Remember on the weekend when I said I couldn’t imagine my ovaries feeling more full? I was so naive then.’ I truly cannot imagine what I will feel like after a few more days of this. Even if the egg collection is scheduled for next Wednesday I might take Monday and Tuesday off. I just wish I had more annual leave. I am bearing a grudge towards the counselling contract I had at the start of Operation Fingerpaint, which necessitated taking 5 days off. I feel less bad about screwing them into the ground and backing out of the supervision contract.


Have to pee.

Keep those man-juice updates coming, Existere.

November 25, 2008

Clinic called. Apparently the new system is that we absolutely have to accept or reject a profile before we get the next one. Bye-bye, potential baby daddy.

I talked to a lady on the phone. I said our most important thing is education, then a job/skill/hobby in a creative industry, then physical characteristics. I said we would like a Caucasian donor, but other than that we don’t mind. So I think we’re going forward with blond or brown hair, eye colour does not matter, etc.

She thinks she knows a man for us. Short, though. 5’6.

Eh, fuck it. The children may be short, but they will be creative geniuses.

They are going to input things into the computer and then email me the profile tomorrow. Prior to this they were just matching on TMD’s physical characteristics. Before she read the profile of Donor #1, she was quite keen to have a brown/brown person. Now she doesn’t care, as long as they aren’t from That Country or Roman Catholic. I didn’t tell the lady our prejudice against Catholicism, since that shit IS learned.

Still, I can’t help but bring all my psychodynamic training into play – linking the possible upbringing people might have had with their emotional/physical development…and wondering if those things are hereditary.

Feels weird just saying, ‘Yes, smart. Creative. No, we don’t give a fuck what they look like,’ without TMD by my side. Still, I’m about 99% sure this is what she’d want me to say. I secretly hope we get a blond donor. Then the kid would be blond (I’m a blond, you know).

It is really a shame TMD’s genes aren’t being thrown into the pot. When we worked at camp, our old director called TMD a ‘classic beauty.’ And she is. It’s not just because she’s my wife I think she’s stunning – EVERYONE thinks she’s amazingly beautiful. What do I have to offer the child? If my own childhood is anything to go by, a bad overbite and glasses at an early age.


God, this whole donor thing makes me super nervous. I hope I open the next profile they send and just think, ‘Yes. That is the juice we want.’ I also hope he has ‘proven fertility.’ I’m slightly apprehensive as the computer apparently listed the last guy as our perfect match. Hrm.

Still, personality is WAY MORE IMPORTANT than hair colour or eye colour. I don’t want a dummy baby daddy. And if we could get someone who liked art, writing, music, etc – what a bonus. Universe, this is what I want. And maybe not someone too short. And don’t forget the ‘proven fertility.’

My worst nightmare would be to open the next profile and wish we’d said yes to Man/Boy From The Racist Country.

Yesterday – Day 1 of IVF treatment.

November 8, 2008

The whole thing was anti-climactic. The needle was nothing, I couldn’t even feel it going into my skin. But perhaps I’ll rewind and tell this tale a little slower, for any girlies out there about to embark on IVF.

This appointment was the one for me to start taking the injections to ‘turn off’ my natural hormones. This needs to happen so the clinic can control every step of my cycle. I was also told I would learn more about the treatment schedule.

TMD and I arrived in very good time.

We live somewhere with nationalised health service, and this clinic is different as it’s private. It’s also on themost exclusive street in the country, medically-wise. What does that mean? Chandeliers, marble staircases, and being treated like you are fucking royalty. This initially freaked me out (last spring, when we went to an information session on IUI), but I was quickly put at ease by how friendly everyone was.

TMD and I arrived in very good time and settled onto our usual couch (the big, squishy leather one next to the fancy fridges offering different types of bottled water – and a coffee/tea machine that would probably put the rest of the world to shame). I always take a non-sparkling water when I go there, whether I am thirsty or not. We are paying so much money for IVF that I figure I want to get every cents worth.

(Have you seen Friends when Ross goes to the hotel? Yeah, that’s me.)

Yesterday in the lovely giant tree thing next to ‘our’ couch, there were little stuffed monkeys wearing t shirts emblazoned with the clinic’s logo. This sounds cheap and tasteless, but it was fucking awesome. I seriously considering swiping one, then figured that karmically it probably wasn’t a good thing to attempt to steal from a clinic that was going to (fingers crossed) get me pregnant.

Give me time, though. TMD has said when we are preggo we’ll ask to buy one. My momma didn’t raise me to offer to buy things. She raised me to shove them in my purse. Oh, well.

So. The eggsharing nurse/head nurse called us in to her office.  I heard her tell another nurse we wouldn’t be in there long – which was a bit shocking. I don’t know what I expected. A three hour marathon?

She launched right in to describing this first medication, and patted a goody bag that was mine to take home. Yes, I’m now the proud owner of this medication, a shitload of needles/syringes, alcohol wipes, and my own mini SHARPS container. I love that fucking container, man. I want to use it as a desk trash can or something. (Perhaps this links in with how awesome I thought the stuffed monkeys were? Who can tell.)

She then said we would be doing the first injection in the office. She prepared it, talking us through every step of the way. Pushing the needle into the bottle, pulling back to fill the syringe, then pushing some meds back in until the plunger was exactly at the 50 line. (50 what, I don’t know. MLs?) Taking the needle out of the bottle, flicking it very hard to get rid of air, then very gently pushing forward until a drop of fluid came out the end.

She also talked about not worrying too much about very small bubbles, as this was being injected into fatty tissue so there were no terrible health risks involved. She also said something about the needle using ‘positive pressure’ – fuck only knew what that was about, as I was so focused on knowing I was about to shove a needle in my stomach.

When I was little, I was terrified of shots. My mother is a nurse. Once, when I refused to have my tetanus vaccine at age 12, I woke up in the middle of the night to find that my arm was tied with a rubber thing, my mother standing over me with a needle. Fuck a duck, man, no kid wants to wake up that way.

When I went to camp/university for the first time, I had to have about 100 immunisations and things, and since that point I’ve not minded needles. Couple that with about 432532 people treating me after my breast reduction, and you’ll find I have no shame about anything, even dildo-cam ultrasounds when I am bleeding.

But while I’m okay with needles, I’m not okay with actually looking at them. Gross-o,  man.

The nurse asked who should do it – myself or TMD. I think we both knew I needed to, otherwise I would build some big emotional block and never be able to do it again. The nurse offered to literally hold my hand, and I was like, ‘Uh, no. I can quite readily inflict this agony on myself.’

She talked me through every step. The first one was just pinching some of my stomach, just to the side of my belly button. Easy enough. Then I had to put the needle against my skin. Again, simple. Then I had to push it in all the way until the needle wasn’t visible any more. These needles are maybe just over a centimetre long? I’m not sure. I was semi-blind at this point.

The nurse reminded me I needed to look! She also mentioned that leaning back would make it easier.

So…I just pushed the needle into my skin like it was something I did every day. The first words I said once it was in were, ‘Oh! That was nothing.  I didn’t even feel it!’

I then had to depress the plunger and push the meds in (like putting a tampon in, except radically different). I could not push that fucking thing down. It was like pushing a brick wall with your finger and expecting it to move. The nurse said it was be easier if I used my thumb, but I felt committed to my finger. I literally had to use every ounce of strength in my pointer finger to do it. It felt a bit odd going in (did it, or am I making that up?), but again fine. Like some sort of moron, I then said, ‘What do I do now? Take it out?’

Because the only other option is leaving that needle connected to my stomach, and you know that’s a good look. The nurse encouraged me to whip it out faster.

Again, I was saying the same thing over and over about not having felt anything.

She then said my first scan would be on the 20th and offered to book it in now if I wanted the first slot. As I opened up my mouth to reply, that’s when I felt it. It. IT.

‘Uh, it feels funny.  It’s …stinging.  When does it stop stinging?’

The answer, my friends, was a good couple of hours later. It was not a bad pain, but rather a more tender sort of thing – and unexpected. It felt like I’d been stung by a wasp – but not the immediate pain, the sort of lingering stinging in the area afterwards. Nothing bad, though I was hyperaware of it.

Anyway, she offered us the scan on the 19th instead, but that’s the day we have to take Mom back to the airport and that’s just too much. This scan will be to make sure my endometrial layer is completely gone and I’m an IVF blank canvas. I will be learning how to use the next lot of medication, going through and double-checking all the paperwork, etc.

The nurse also booked in EVERY SINGLE SCAN. I got everything at 8:15 or 8:30, so it shouldn’t affect work at all. If anything, I’ll be in early. *touch wood* It’s a weight off my mind to know it’s all set. She also said, ‘Hmm, we can book you in for the last scan on the 1 December, though we can always cancel that.’

I asked if she meant we’d cancel because of the egg retrieval. Like it was no big thang, she nodded and said, ‘Yes, I think we’ll actually being doing your egg retrieval that day, but I can confirm that the Friday before.’ What?!?! Babyville. So if all goes according to her master plan, the first week in December is officially Make A Baby week.

She also said the woman I am donating eggs to is super excited. I said, ‘I know this is anonymous and everything, but can you tell her I’m excited for her?  I really hope this works for both of us.’ The nurse said I could tell her myself, if I wanted. She said many women write cards or letters, and the clinic can then anonymously pass them on to the other woman involved. I think we may do this. I know I would like one from her, just acknowledging what a big thing I’m helping her with. Don’t get me wrong, this woman is paying for the bulk of my treatment. It’s win-win for both of us, especially if babies result.

Trying to remember anything else significant. I think the nurse thought I was a little bit on crack, because I was asking all these questions and using medical terminology. TMD explained that I’d read everything on IVF I could find, and I said that, in fact, they should probably offer me a job at the clinic when this is all done. This clinic takes the approach of trying to take all the stress off the woman – and this is true of IUI as well. They kind of tell you what to do, etc, and don’t ‘overburden’ you with the medical stuff.

I’m the kind of person who does better when I know more, and she was adept and friendly when answering all my questions. On this med, I can still exercise (‘What a relief for you, as you love exercise so much,’ TMD said.), take my inhalers, have normal life. The only admonishment was to stay away from alcohol and to take folic acid. I said I’d been doing both those things for months, and the nurse laughed and said, ‘Excellent. You’re a boring person – the perfect candidate for a healthy treatment and pregnancy.’

I am taking folic acid mixed into a prenatal vitamin, and the nurse said that’s groovy. I also said I was tkaing Omega-3, and she didn’t seem so keen on that. She said I didn’t need to take it. Anyone out there – pregnant or trying – who knows anything about this??

She also said I needed to be retested for HIV, Hep B, Hep B Core, and Hep C as I was donating. While I can do all these free, it’s a motherfucking hassle so I just coughed up the 110.00 and had it done there. Lounging in a comfortable chair on two hundred year old carpet. Mmm.

I got into a bit of a crazy kerfuffle with the receptionist regarding fees. You see, we pay for ICSI (more later), a licensing fee, and the donor sperm. As an egg donor, I do not pay for scans, medications, IVF treatment, etc. This saves us about 5,000 per month. I KNOW. Expensive shit.

We then went to McDonald’s for a healthy dinner, all the while I kept obsessing about the stinging in the injection site. TMD said, ‘You know when you had that cyst out and the stiches hurt you for two weeks? They would have hurt a normal person for about two days. This means that of COURSE you are still stinging.’ She’s probably right.

We also went across the street to a baby store that is so expensive the choice is really whether to buy a couple of sweaters and a crib or put your child through the education system. It was…interesting.

I was weirded out by how non-weird I felt. Anti-climactic, like I say. I was also surprised to see that I was keenly looking forward to 8:30 pm tonight, when I get to give myself another shot. Not sure what’s wrong with me there, but you know.

Day 2 is today. I woke up at the crack of dawn to have an ass explosion (I’m still stressed about what happened at work – damn this situation for making me so tired and taking some of the joy out of yesterday) and never went back to bed. I feel like I’ve run a marathon – except I’ve never actually experienced that so this is a rough approximation. Completely worn out and very tearful.

TMD took Marmite to the vet and came home to make me lunch. I was miserably curled up on the couch, wishing I was asleep, and watching a tv show about home births. I had about an hour of constant crying and moaning about how tired I was. No clue if this is a side effect or not, though I suspect not.

My grand plans for today included being dropped in town for a massive writing session, but it’s all I can do to stay awake. Plus this entry is about 2,500 words, so that’s nice. It’s not part of the novel, but it could be something our future child reads with interest.

Oh – the only thing I forgot to mention is that the nurse said the intramuscular injections hurt pretty fucking bad. I think that’s just the HCG trigger shot, am I right? I’m fairly sure the next lot of injections are still tummy ones.

Ah. One more thing I forgot to mention. I asked about the sperm donor and wanted to make sure the clinic had our physical characteristics and requests on file. She took my email address and said she will ask the Sperm Department to be in touch before the scan. So we’re going to be picking out a frozen baby daddy sometime in the next week or so.


No need to continue reading, this lot is for me.

I am a bit freaked out as TMD has an interview scheduled the morning of the first scan, and I feel like I don’t want to go alone to learn about the new meds. She is going to try to shift this, otherwise I suppose I’ll be a grownup and go alone.

I am still freaking out about that fucking driving test. Def going to phone on Monday and push it back to January. I don’t want it at all, really, but TMD keeps saying that I need one to get round to appointments.

The morning of the scan, I have a VERY big first couples counselling session a work. I don’t know about the clients yet, but apparently it’s quite complex. It would be terrible to be late. I sort of wish I just  had the next two months off work.

Crap – another thing I forgot but don’t want to add to the bulk of the entry as I already realise I look crazy – I was woken up this morning from a dream that I had wiped the medication with the alcohol, cracked open a needle, and then realised it was 8:30 am rather than pm. My dream self was less worried about this overdosing close call than the fact that it would mean I was one needle and alcohol pad short. CRAZY.

One more thing. Silly me.

Nursey also said it’s very important to have a positive mental attitude. If anything, I think my own risk comes from having TOO positive an attitude. Talked to my mother on the phone last night who lost no time in pointing out what a huge disappointment this would be if it didn’t work.