I am a sick, sick, sick person.

I am back at work for the first time since my transfer and I have spent at least an hour looking at maternity clothes online today. I haven’t bought anything yet (that would be totally jinxing myself), but I have allowed myself to make a mental list of things I want if I do, in fact, managed to get pregnant. I know, I know, most women manage to make it at least a few weeks (if not months) into the pregnancy without needing maternity clothes, but the IVF-related bloat already has me out of all jeans and down to two pairs of capris. Amazingly, I still haven’t actually gained any weight (during IVF that is) but my stomach is bloated and having anything press against it (e.g., my jeans) is seriously uncomfortable. I never imagined that full-panel jeans would sound so appealing.

You may be wondering how the transfer went.  The official story is that it went well; two good quality blastocysts were transferred and six more were frozen. The reality is that my transfer sucked and I hope to avoid experiencing that again for a long, long time.  Normally, this is not something I would share with the world, but considering that I had no clue that a transfer could go like this, I feel compelled to warn others.  Warning: TMI ahead….

I was told to be at the hospital at 8:30 am on Sunday, for a 9:30 transfer. When I got to the hospital, I was told that the two retrievals ahead of me were running behind and that it would probably be about 10:00 before I would be taken back. Keep in mind that (1) I have a teeny, tiny bladder and (2) I was expected to go into the transfer with a full bladder. By 10:00, my bladder was full to the point of excruciating and there were no indications that I would be going back any time soon (I had not yet even seen my doctor to sign consent forms). So, I peed and tried to start drinking again.  Long story short, when I was finally taken back at 11:00, my bladder felt somewhat full to me (although not to the point of excruciating), which the nurse assured me would be fine.


Because my stupid uterus is caked with Stage IV endo, it is basically stuck to the back of my pelvic cavity and does not like to move from that location.  Dr. Soap wanted my bladder FULL in the vain hope that it would push the aforementioned stupid uterus down, thus making the transfer easier.  Apparently, what I consider a full bladder and what he considers a full bladder are two very, very different things.  So, lucky me got to be catheterized so that they could fill my bladder to point of explosion with saline.

I had never been catheterized before while fully conscious.  I do not recommend it. At all. Under any circumstances.

So, there I am, crying because (1) getting the catheter was fucking painful and (2) now my bladder is so full I feel like I may die.  DH is on the verge of freaking out because (1) he did not want to be there in the first place (extremely squeamish) and (2) he gets really nervous when I am in pain.

And the full bladder doesn’t move the stupid uterus one bit. So, Dr. Soap keeps tilting the operating table until I am practically upside down in order to try to get a better angle, which also involves repeated (and uncomfortable – remember, bladder is about to pop) readjustment of the speculum.

Overall, it was a very traumatic experience and even if we weren’t on doctor-ordered sex restriction, DH would not be getting anywhere near my hoo-haa. And, of course, the valium did not kick in until it was all over.


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