Triticum Turgidum

Lying Dormant and Waiting to Bloom Since 2005

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Location: The Prairie, Illinois, United States

I am a beauty-loving ambidextrous higher-order primate who learned transcendental meditation at 7, statistical analysis at 23, tap dancing at 30, and piano at 35. I tolerate gluten, lactose, and differences of opinion, but not abuse. Or beets.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Egg Retrieval

We managed to find friends (generous, wonderful friends) to stay at our house with Mini-Wheat last night, and I did the egg transfer this morning. I had a wonderful intake nurse: she covered me with pre-heated blankets and spoke in soothing tones. The anesthesiologist, on the other hand, was curt and humorless. When they strapped my legs into the stirrups I said I felt like I was in a Terry Gilliam movie (futuristic dystopia with Medieval-looking technology), and the best he could do was smirk. Fortunately he did his job and the procedure was quick and painless.

Now, though: cramp ci-tay. They gave me Darvocet, and I got the obligatory "use it only if you need it" speech. Define need, please. I've just received prescription painkillers legally; you think I'm not going to use them?

So what really matters, and it's good news: I only had 8 follicles, and the reproductive endocrinologist was able to get 7 eggs out of them. It could have been a lot worse. I'll find out tomorrow how many fertilized.

The bad news is, Mr. Wheat's sperm count just keeps dropping (only 2 mil today, normal is 20 mil) so we decided in consultation with the biologist to do TBS (to-be-sure) ICSI (don't ask me what ICSI stands for -- basically it means injecting a sperm right into the egg), meaning they'll try to fertilize 4 of the 7 naturally and do ICSI on the remaining 3. (They originally weren't going to do ICSI at all because we had a natural conception with Mini-Wheat.) Mr. Wheat and I were trying to figure out what we were doing 3 months ago when those sperm cells were developing, and we realized it was around the time of our trip to Australia. Nothing like 36 hours of straight cattle-car travel to stress a person out. Mr. Wheat is the happy-go-lucky type, but we all show our stress somewhere (stomach ulcers, back injuries, etc.). Apparently his stress-expression locale is his bag. Poor guy.


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