Meet our first born, Google

IVF round one was a TKO, Total fucKing freakOut.

First, they put me on birth control pills (BCP). Ummmm, I’m no genius here and my kin are from the hills of KY but don’t you take this shit to NOT get pregnant??? Apparently they want to suppress your ovaries so they can take complete control over your cycle, but it would be helpful if they didn’t think we were a bunch of monkeys and actually explained this stuff to us. I swear I might name this IVF baby Google.

Then on to the mysterious calendar that they hold on to like nuclear launch codes until last minute. It took what felt like months (really days) to get the stupid calendar full of the upcoming meds/events that they knew all along. Seriously, just like just doodle that shit all over the back of a piece of paper.

Then I had to play a game of ‘not it’ with the specialty pharmacy and the doctor’s office, as they sorted out prescriptions, authorizations, and all that jazz. Of course you don’t get the meds until the day before you are supposed to start them on the calendar that you got just days ago (even though they had the info prior); note you started old flo (period) two weeks ago they knew the plan long before that so why do they wait until the last minute… I’ll never understand it.

Tears are already flowing as if I have watched the end of My Girl on repeat, and I’m only on birth control. Buckle up dear husband, because you’re about to board the crazy train!

The following weeks consisted of me crying a lot and learning to inject myself, most notably not using the Follistim (medication) pen correctly, so I didn’t actually inject anything for FOUR days. I am a former ER nurse, so I took that one to heart; why not just revoke my license and erase the years of nursing school from me because I couldn’t figure out some stupid ass pen that was supposed to ‘make it easier’. I’ve never felt better about myself, ever.

Next was the unknown. Will the surgery hurt? How many days do I take off? What do I tell my boss? Do I tell my boss? What’s a good number? Will I get cutesy pictures of my embryos so I can sleep with them on my bedside table? How long will I have to wait to hear if my eggs are good? What is good? Who will contact me? What’s next? What. The. Fuck.