Labor Day

I spent the remainder of last night trying not to sneeze out the embryo. I have also become defensive at any perceived slights to the little package of cells: "it not an egg; it's an embryo!" I am relieved that the major cycle highlights are over, with, of course, the exception of the denouement: the beta test - let's hope this one isn't a show stopper. All I have to do now is drive a 25 gauge needle filled with viscous oil into an uncooperative muscle daily for the next couple of weeks and wait.

The infertility message boards are filled with warnings of how terrible these injections are, but they are also filled with a lot of acronyms that make me cringe more than a syringe to the ass, so I have learned to make my own judgements. I figured it would sting a bit and the muscle would be sore, but the sub-Q shots weren't too bad, and I didn't have the awful, prolonged side effects that many complained of. So I thought I was certain I could handle this. The first one went in with little sensation. It was difficult to coax the thick liquid out of the syringe, but it was by no means painful. We had talked about getting a heating pad, but it appeared to be fine so we resumed our movie. About a half hour later, not even the beautifully choreographed, stylized violence of Kung Fu Hustle could keep my mind off of the ring of fire around my injection site. A warm compress was applied to no avail. The next night was slightly less painful. I think because I was expecting it. To make it matters worse, I am only on my third day of the progesterone, and already I have discoloration and bruising the size of tropical fruit on my hindquarters. This significantly reduces the amount of usable flesh as I am not interested in said 25 gauge going into a knotted bruise. Did I also mention that the pricking had resulted in several broken veins? On my ass? There goes any hopes I had for a spot in the swimsuit issue.

It occurred to me that I spent the unofficial start of summer, Memorial Day weekend, recovering from my laparoscopy. Because, I love a pattern, I finished off summer recovering from retrieval and transfer over the Labor Day weekend. It's like surgical bookends. I had an enormous amount of faith that the lap would be my cure. But another season has been lost, and here I am trying not to admit that I have the same faith in this IVF cycle.

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