That is an actual quote from my RE this morning as I lay there pantsless with my legs in stirrups at 8 freaking AM as she pulled out the transvaginal ultrasound wand.
“Fun? Is that what we’re calling it now?” I asked.
She and the nurse laughed. “Yep. Fun!”
I took my last birth control pill last night. So I had to go in this morning for my baseline ultrasound. Affectionately known as a date with the twat wand (thank you infertility subreddit). Everything looked great according to the doctor, no cysts and ready to go. I have to go back Friday with my husband to sign all the final consent paperwork and receive injection training. They’ll also do a final baseline blood test before starting stims, and as long as everything comes back ok…shit gets real.
My injections start Saturday night. Follistim and Menopur. I can do this. I can totally do this. Really, I have ZERO OTHER OPTIONS other than to do this, but I don’t let that get in the way of my weird internal pep talk.
Meds are all set to be delivered tomorrow. $3,119.61 worth of meds to be exact. If all this works, I vow to become a lobbyist for getting infertility treatments covered by insurance.
I’m straight up scared, y’all. Jokes and sarcasm have always been my coping mechanisms for absolutely everything in life. Sure, I joke with the doctor. I even joke with my husband about how we have to take a class to learn how to shoot me up. But really. I’m so freaking scared.
No one ever comes out of IVF saying “Oh, the shots were downright pleasant!” No one ever waxes poetically about the glorious days of bruised stomachs and asses. Hell, if this works, I can’t even say my husband was in the same room as me when our kid was conceived. Least romantic process ever. The next few weeks are going suck. A lot. And there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make it better or easier.
I’m terrified and anxious and nervous and sad and excited and worried and hopeful and pessimistic.
Damn, if only I could just relax, right?!