Monthly Archives: June 2007

Truffle Shuffle

I miss needles. I know that makes me sound like a raving psychopath but I really miss our daily ritual. I miss having something to do… although that’s not entirely true as I still do have something to do.

My rascally ovaries got themselves all flustered and overexcited during the FSH injections and this is not good. As I mentioned previously it can be quite dangerous and painful. Luckily for me, my case has erred to the side of just painful and not dangerous but it means that instead of getting a couple of progesterone injections after the transfer, I have to do take a more gentle dose of progesterone twice a day for a few weeks in a fashion that is probably best left undiscussed but involves paste, a squirter and my hoo hah. This daily ritual is most definitely a solo act and doesn’t come with cups of tea and sympathy from M who instead runs as far away as he can pulling ‘ick’ faces.

In more exciting news Dr. Sickboy called and tomorrow we transfer. One of the lucky embys will be moving out of the Petri dish and in to  my womb with a view (well, it does reside on the harbour) and hopefully the rest will be big enough and tough enough to move into a big freezer.

At the moment this is what my embys look like.

I think they look exactly like little Perigord truffles which is wonderful because Perigord truffles arejust about my favourite things in the world and simply love hanging about in my belly.


Filed under embryos, IVF, Uncategorized

Six Pack

We have super embryos.

I just heard from the embryology lab and spoke to Steven Hawking (I knew we’d bump into him at some stage) let us know that all our embys are doing really well and are of excellent quality.

On a day 3 check Casa Conceptions scientists are looking for the fertilised embryos to be around 7 cells each… but our little six pack of Sea Monkeys are racing ahead (I always knew our kids would be advanced for their ages) and we have 3 at 8 cells, 2 at 9 cells and one bruiser who, at 10 cells, is particularly sophisticated, clever and tall.

All six get a gold star and a merit certificate and we are very proud… they are such good kids 🙂


Filed under embryos, IVF

It’s over the fence…

We hit a six!

The Stabber just called to let me know the great news that out of the seven eggs retrieved, six fancied M’s post day spa coiffed and fluffy sperm and have fertilised. She was so please for us… I love, Love, LOVE her!

I knew seven was a good omen and now we have six embryos swimming about out in a Petri dish comparing cells and generally trying to out do each other to see who will be the lucky emby moving into their new room in mum!

The average fertilisation rate is just under 70% so we got a gold star from the Scientist (who incidentally was a young lady and disappointingly didn’t remind me even slightly of Stephen Hawking) for our 86%.

I want every single one of them to make it but we have been told the odds are that only one or two will get to blastocyst stage as there is usually around a 65% drop off rate over the next few days as the embies do their thing.

Hang in there my little embies… we really, really want you all to stay.


Filed under eggs, embryos, IVF

Lucky Number Seven

We got seven mature and sexy looking eggs. Seven is good. Seven is not great but seven is good. Eight is average… but who wants an average egg? Not I.

Dr Sickboy says that quality is preferred over quantity and at first appraisal they appear to be very good. Mind you I never trust anything a man tells me while he is rooting around between my legs.

The egg retrieval was quick and almost painless, though I must say a trifle surreal as M discussed dodgy Glasgow nightclubs with Dr Sickboy whilst I was tripping on sedatives and he had his head up my hoo ha.

The bright side of seven is that it is a lucky number and the icons jiggled happily when I told them.

My multiple Buddha’s were particularly excited as they claimed that Buddha walked 7 steps at his birth (obviously an advanced child, I would have had him out applying for a job by the time he was an hour old if he were my kid) and declared it a supremely lucky number.

My Japanese Buddha tells me that there are seven lucky Gods in Japan, otherwise know as ‘the seven wise men of the bamboo thicket’, which I think sounds a bit of an odd place to find seven allegedly smart guys. They represent seven virtues, fortune, candor, magnanimity, popularity, longevity, dignity and amiability.

Shiva, taking a break form protecting our toilet, reminded me that seven is the number of Hindi sages and their wives are referred to as the ‘Seven Mothers’. A nice omen.

Accepting as they are of other belief systems, my household Gods and Goddesses pointed out that there are seven heavens in Islam and that in Judeo-Christian lore it was on the seventh day that God rested.

Plus there are seven official Judeo-Christian virtues…chastity, moderation, liberality, charity, meekness, zeal, and humility as well as the far more appealing seven deadly sins… lust, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride and gluttony (my personal fave)

In Greek Mythology there were seven sages, there are seven wonders of the world, seven dwarfs and James Bond is 007.

By now grasping at straws for positive omens we observed that while we both love the film Se7en, M is also a big fan of the movie The Magnificent Seven…

So it would seem that Seven IS great. Now lets hope seven little eggs can get fertilised by seven little coiffed and fluffy sperms and make seven strong little embryos while their slightly sore mummy takes some post operative panadeine and has a nice lay down.

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Lust for Life

Last night M & I had planned a special evening for the two of us at Claude’s, our favourite restaurant in the world, for a romantic and decadent dinner to celebrate our first full day of officially being married (we had to apply for the Thai marriage to be recognised here and now it is – we’re legal hoorah!)

But those cheeky chickens had other ideas!

Our first day of being legally hitched was full of hitches. At 7am I visited Casa Conception where I immediately broke my marital vows by being unfaithful to my husband with Dildocam. The Cow wasn’t there this time and instead I got a wand waver who was so irritatingly chirpy for 7am that I wanted to beat her to death.

M was understanding about my morning indiscretions with Dildocam and even drove me home afterwards. We then went to meet with two of my most fabulous friend’s for lunch… except I couldn’t sit still because my boobs were killing me. I swear to Gods they’ve doubled in size in 24 hours. This is not a good thing. They were so big before this that they had their own weather system… now they’re bloody enormous and I swear I saw a satellite orbiting them.

Anyway at the end of our lunch I got a call from Nurse Sweetness-and-Light (she’s new and I like her very much) to let me know my results were back from the bloodwork and DC.

She casually dropped that it was trigger time.


At 11pm.

Fuck me.

It’s only day 9 of the FSH injections… it’s supposed to be 12 or 15 days. And I have things to do. I’m not ready… could it really be happening? I’m scared. This is the money shot…. the last injection of them all.

Plus I really, really want to go to Claude’s.

Nurse Sweetness-and-Light , sensing correctly that I was shitting myself, calmly explained that the hens are laying ahead of schedule and everything is on track (my chickens are so efficient) and my estrogen levels are a sky high 11,000 (meaning a possible risk of OHSS, eek!) which explains why it feels like I’ve had bulldog clips attached to my nipples for the past 24 hours. As such, my doctor (a little more on him shortly) says it has GOT to be tonight with retrieval in 36 hours.

She then gave me an over the phone walk through of just how ‘Trigger’ works.

Now Trigger, as well as being Roy Rogers’s loyal horse, is the final step in the battery farming process. This is the injection that brings on ovulation. Trigger has been sitting menacingly in our fridge for ten days and is complex and scary requiring equipment and mixing which makes me feel like I really am about to shoot up something illegal.

Nurse Sweetness-and-Light told us that first we have to snap open the two little glass vials, draw up the solution with a syringe so long and fat it makes me faint just looking at it, mix it with a powder solution, suck it back into the syringe, change to a smaller needle (whilst breathing huge sigh of relief) ensuring there are no air bubbles then finally inject the lot (and it is a lot) into my gut. What fun!

So that’s how we found ourselves as born again newlyweds dining at Claude’s with an esky bag full of medication stuffing our faces at light speed so we could be home by 11pm and not have to shoot up in the middle of a three hat restaurant.

Having explained the urgency to the wonderful Claude’s staff they raced about, watching clocks and making sure we missed out on nothing… to the point of force-feeding us the dessert courses with such haste I felt like a fois gras goose.

At 10.30 we were eight courses down and on to the petit fors and coffee whilst the rest of the restaurant patrons were leisurely enjoying about course number five and staring at us like we were gluttonous super heroes. By 10.35 pm a waiter was valiantly leaping head first into Oxford Street traffic to get us a cab in to which we immediately dived and demanded the driver get us home post haste.

At 10.52pm we raced (well waddled as we were full to overflowing with yummy Claude’s goodness and about two tonnes of freshly shaved truffles) through the door, trying to put Trigger together. We smashed a vial as we were opening it and threw away the special sucking up syringe by accident from all our fumbly nerves. Thank Gods they give you spares for just such an emergency.

I paced nervously while M cooked up my drugs and then settled onto the couch, needle in hand, trembling with hope and fear. As I shakily started to swipe my stomach with the alcho wipe ready for the plunge… a sudden burst of music entered our living room making me look up to see M, I kid you not, putting on the Trainspotting DVD for moral support.

So to the energetic and rather appropriate strains of the Stooges classic ‘Lust for Life’ I plunged Trigger into my very full belly and cuddled up to my very funny and charming ex IVF drug dealer and now completely legal husband to watch a movie I’ve seen a dozen times but through new eyes.

On Monday at 10.30am I have to be at the Doctors surgery, for the egg retrieval.

The one thing I’ve never discussed during this whole process is my doctor, a lovely man from Scotland with a fabulous accent. Ironically, from the day we met him many months ago while we were still only considering this journey… we have been referring to him as Dr. Sickboy, because his voice sounds spookily similar to that of the Johnny Lee Miller character from Trainspotting, of course.


Filed under drugs, IVF, needles, tests, trainspotting

Oh, that’s how you make babies.

I’ve been thinking about the reasons M and I have been unable to achieve a successful pregnancy and realised after a depressed afternoon in front of the ‘W’ channel exactly why.

We’ve been going about this all the wrong way. A healthy diet, herbal fertility treatments, acupuncture, temperature taking, weeing on sticks, avoidance of alcohol, drugs and caffeine plus anything else mildly amusing, a household full of fertility icons, IVF treatments and even sex just aren’t going to cut it. Pillows under the butt, a hundred books on conception and the sweet advice from friends to just relax (yeah right!) and being asked constantly ‘are you pregnant yet?’ also isn’t going to help.

I have realised now that I need to change my entire lifestyle if I want to become a virtual baby making machine.

Firstly I need to get completely hammered and shag M in the back seat of my dads car with a broken condom and cross my fingers I don’t fall pregnant ‘cause that would be, like, totally uncool.

Failing this I need to take up crack, preferably in conjunction with prostitution. After M and I move into our new trailer home I will also become an alcoholic with an addiction to anti-depressants and M needs also to become an alcoholic as well as beating me as frequently as possible.

M needs to have an illicit affair with another woman and leave me or I can have an illicit affair with an underage male, preferable a student… which may prove difficult as I am not a teacher. Illicit sex with another man or men, preferably Asian or African American, on the same day I have sex with M producing multiple babies of different colours is also a fabulous option.

If all else fails I just need to have sex with Kevin Federline.

According to my television any of the above will guarantee us an abundance of babies… and the TV would never lie.


Filed under accupuncture, iconography, Infertility, IVF

Counting my chickens before they’re hatched

I got the call form the Stabber and my battery farm got a big thumbs up. She said that seventeen follicular nests is a very good number and with 12 of them already at a decent size she expects we should get enough eggs from my little hens.

Apparently this number is ideal as over 20 means there would be a strong possibility that the hens would lay poor quality eggs as it would be a bit too overcrowded and they could become distressed and start pecking each other to death.

The hens in my battery farm still have enough room to preen and scratch about so they should produce nice fat strong eggs and an RSPCA officer wont be sent around to shut my ovaries down.

My bloodwork results were also good and I have another date scheduled with DC for tomorrow morning (he better bring flowers this time, bastard) and pending the results of that and another round of bloodwork they may bring retrieval time forward to as early as next week.

This means we’re only a few days from introducing the girls to the sexy post spa sperms and Operation Sea Monkey starts getting really serious.


Filed under eggs, IVF, tests

So dirty… so used.

My first date with Dildocam made me feel so cheap. Where was the romance? No flowers, no wining or dining, no small talk and certainly no foreplay before he just jumped straight in and started poking about! I feel so dirty and can’t believe I’ve already agreed to a second date on Saturday.

The battery farm appears to be doing well and is suitably overcrowded as DC found 17 follicles, 12 of which are plump enough for the hens to lay their little eggs. I think this is quite a good number but the DC nurse was a sour faced cow and refused to enlighten me one way or the other. In her defense I would be sour faced too if I had to spend my whole day sticking a condom covered camera up a never ending supply of ladies hoo ha’s. I still dislike her.

I am now awaiting a call from The Stabber to confirm my results

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Don’t let the door hit your resin arse on the way out.

She had to go. It was either her or me.

I am, of course, referring to the previously mentioned Kwan Yin, my recently acquired festeringly ugly icon of fecundity.

Kwanny didn’t survive the month. I had to avert my eyes every time I saw her/him for her/his abject hideousness and vague resemblance to a Hermaphrodite Virgin Mary bothered me greatly.

And it wasn’t just me who felt this way. Our household never accepted her/him . M thought she/he  repellent, Eddie  snubbed her/him and the other icons didn’t play nice either… because she/he was ‘different’. Now before you get the wrong idea, the icons in our household are all very open minded and supportive about Kwannys sexual ambivalence but unfortunately, like their owner, they are intensely shallow and feared her/his grosse ugliness could somehow rub off and tarnish their own statuesque loveliness.

She/he has now been banished but for fear of otherworldy reprisals, has been replaced with her/his prettier self. I found the lovely Kwan Yin 2 today in an Asian Artifacts store and though still of dubious sexual orientation she is a beautiful and ethereal bronze and all the other icons fancy her greatly.

More importantly I find her simply devine and any magical conception charms she can send our way will be happily received without fear of them grotesquely deforming our future offspring by osmosis.

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Funky Chickens

It would appear that my chickens have been a little excitable. This morning I had my first bloodwork since I started the bastard injections last Friday and it seems too many chickens are trying to squeeze into the ovarian battery farm which is, it would seem, a bad thing.

A random nurse called to talk me through my results and said that apparently I have responded very well but a tad ‘too well’ to the bastard injections and they have to ensure I don’t respond too quickly as this could mean Ovarian Hyper stimulation Syndrome where, along with vomiting and abdominal pain, other niggling side effects include death.

Of course, the fabulous staff at Casa Conception are so professional and monitor their little science projectettes so closely that this is a very minor risk, similar to that of me getting hit by a bus or ever wearing pink. They have lowered my dosage accordingly to ensure this doesn’t happen as being dead would not only be rather dull but also lower my chances of falling pregnant substantially.

Thursday I have more bloodwork and my first date with the dildocam, more commonly known to normal folk as a transvaginal ultrasound which, though it sounds like somewhere a vampire with PMS should be dwelling, is just an internal ultrasound device.

My date with Dildocam is so we can count the follicles and see exactly how many funky chickens we’re dealing with in my little coup.

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