Don’t be at all alarmed if my voice drops a peg or two. Or if I start sprouting a few little hairs on my chinnie chin chin. Or even if I develop Arnie-like biceps bulging from my arms.
Because this here Lady MamaG vessel is producing bugger all eggs and even less of those that make it to embie stage, Dr Babies has signed me up to take Testosterone, which has in turn seen me check the mirror every morning for signs of an Adam’s apple appear out of my throat. So far so good. Why the need for man juice? Well, apparently it aids the growth and quantity of eggs. I’m all for whatever means I don’t have to keep going through another year of six anesthetics, three egg collections and six embryo transfers – hells to the yes, where do I sign me up? I lost the ability to care what goes into my body and how it looks long ago. Around the same time my wardrobe stopped fitting me. And the good doc has also been kind enough to prescribe a little Melatonin to help make me
less cranky. sleep better, for which the men of my household are extremely grateful.
We’ve decided to sit this month out and give it one last shot for the year in November…which also happens to be my month of birth (all choccies, prezzies and diamonds gratefully accepted) by which time, hopefully my pipes can produce some fighting little embies that are able to make it the whole nine yards this time.
There’s one more change to our next cycle and that’s the decision to pop two lovely little embies in on our next transfer. Now don’t think I haven’t considered this as much as much as Britney before shaving her head. I have so many friends with twins I could actually start a David Koresh-style commune and still have some left over in the neighbouring suburbs. I’ve seen them juggle babies on boobs, change nappies by the green wheelie bin load and buy van-like vehicles just to transport them but I’ve also seen the beautiful gift that is multiple births and while I’m in no dreamland that it would be ‘fun’ to have twins despite The Vet and the 9 y o thinking this would be ‘awesome’ (their word, not mine) I would rather be blessed with two than none at all. It’s something I’ve had to get my head around and when Dr Babies suggested it would be the best option for our next round, after I slapped him in the face (no I didn’t really) I took a moment to think – that would be a nano second – and you know what…? Whatever number that Big Bloke upstairs decides to dole out the little people, I’ll take thanks very much.
When you undertake IVF, you do so knowing there is always a risk of multiple birth because of the drugs, the potential of embryos splitting and a few other factors. I’ve considered this and unlike the muppets on Today Tonight that have decided to sue their fertility doctor because they ended up with triplets and not twins, I know what I’m in for…be that one or two, I’d just be grateful to have any at all and count my bloody blessings.
So cross everything including your nose hairs this might be our final round and we get the little dream we’ve been hoping for…however many that might be… Lov’n’ hugs, LadyMamaG xox