no regrets people. none. i refuse to have any. life is too short.
when a girlfriend of mine said she was moving across the country to nowheresville and all she wanted in the whole wide world was to have a going away stripper pole workout with us girls from work (and guy who is pretty and girly), did i hesitate? you bet your sweet ass i did. nothing about stripper + pole + workout screams “me! me! me!” to me. did i question my sanity the entire 2 HOURS i was there? hell yes. but do i regret it? not. one. bit.
let me be clear, this may sound like a naughty class. don’t be fooled. nothing about the class was remotely close to “stripper.” i’m considering filing suit for false advertising. every single one of the 120 minutes spent inside that dimly-lit ballroom was dedicated to working out. i was SWEATING buckets within the first 5 minutes. pushups. stretching. lunges. more stretching. leg lifts. ab crunches. wait a minute, i thought this was supposed to be fun. well, it was actually. eventually. the last 30 minutes, really. when we got to the “pole maneuvers” (read: fling yourself around the pole and try not to knock yourself unconscious). before i knew it we were laughing hysterically at each other and ourselves, and having a seriously good time. a large portion of the fun was a direct result of no mirrors + thumping hip hop tracks + a hefty dose of no shame. and if we’re being completely honest, booze. booze always helps. (although i could not partake, womp womp)
i owned that pole. nailed it. no regrets people.
which brings me to today’s discussion. and i will preface it with “this is a really really obnoxiously long post, but it covers a week’s worth of events so if you read it all i owe you a drink.” if you want to scroll to the end, by all means…
monday started off my week with a certifiably craptastic ultrasound that nearly cancelled my IVF cycle. because, monday, duh, nothing good ever comes from monday. horses had pretty much stopped running. halted. paralyzed. 1 horse was right on track and clearly was the winner since the rest of the pack laid down to die or something. i wish i could make this sh*t up. magician had no answers. no reason why it was happening. here i was supposed to be at the tail end of stimulation medications and my follicles were still small, as if i had only been stimming for 5 days, not 9. i also lost some more horses. that’s it. we’re done. i’m out. i’ve got the towel in hand, ready to throw it in the ring. but magician and amazing husband convinced me to give it 2 more days. pump me with more hormones and “let’s see when wednesday brings. we’ll know more wednesday.” grrrr.
wednesday flipped it upside down. somehow the whole pack got back on the racetrack and were speeding, actually running faster than ever before. and the horse in 1st place was slowing it’s pace. they group was getting tighter. the perfect turnaround to what was inevitable disaster. but i never get good news! i started to get encouraged. this might actually work, i might get to see this cycle through. blood work showed things were progressing nicely. magician said i needed daily monitoring now, as the lead horse was close to being ovulated (read: getting too big) while we waited for the pack to catch up.
no regrets i said.
thursday i went in thinking good thoughts. well that was my first problem. on ultrasound horses looked good, all growing well. yessssss. except i lost another, out of nowhere. ugh. and then the blood work came back. hormone levels had DROPPED. and here it is, the rug under my feet... yup. magician said no more pushing it, no more stalling to let the pack catch up. take the trigger shot that night and i want to see you in the morning. i cried. the wheels were falling off. i see the regrets looming on the horizon.
and so this morning i had my final ultrasound. and i did some serious soul-searching prior to it. i admitted to myself that NOTHING about this cycle was even CLOSE to perfect. pretty much the antithesis of perfection. it was a universe away from how i envisioned it would go. how many follicles i thought i would grow. you name it, it definitely did NOT resemble that plan at all. and sure as shit, on ultrasound i had only 4 mature follies. and *maybe* 1 more by tomorrow. :::audible sigh:::
it is impossible to ever feel comfortable moving forward with doing egg retrieval. but especially now, knowing it is my last cycle, and how
fucked up challenging it has been, i was, and am, a tremulous ball of nerves. but my inner voice kept screaming “what if this is as good as it gets?” i wanted to have 10 follicles, or 12, or 20. 50 even. of course i wanted more. but what if 4 is actually the very best i can do now? i’m 35 this year. gasp. we all know that at 35 your ovaries and uterus basically self-destruct like some kind of james bond gadget. and since mine are actually already like 39, they might as well be turning 90. the other thought i had was that what if the low number of follicles actually was a good thing… maybe it meant better quality? rather than the higher quantity (and crappy quality) i got last time. i simply couldn’t shake those thoughts.
so here i am. i’m all in. let’s do this. i need ten thousand cheerleaders. a miracle, really. tomorrow morning i’m going in for those suckers. the fantastic four. i have to. because, no regrets people.