anxiety Archives - burnt toast life

Nov 01

baby is fine…mama is crazy

Nov 01

Oh, it’s been a day.

First of all, I had quite a few disturbing dreams last night. Two of them involved miscarriage – one was mine, one was a close friend. So I woke up relieved that it was just a dream, but also terribly unsettled. Remember, I just had a “hearing the heartbeat dream” before my last happy, happy ultrasound. So having this nightmare had me thinking it just might come true.

Next, I wasn’t that sick this morning. Not nauseated like I usually am. I tried all my tricks…thinking about meat, thinking about rotting meat, sniffing meat…and nothing worked. I just felt normal.

Here’s one more thing that I haven’t told you guys. I can’t figure out why I didn’t mention this, because it’s terribly relevant, but I think I’m just in denial. So you know how with the first pregnancy I felt like I had strep throat and with the second I got a terrible cold and a deep, relentless, hacking cough? Those were definitely symptoms that things were going south. Anyway, this time around I’m sick again. Not as bad as last time, but I have definite nasal congestion, a little bit of sneeziness, and last night I coughed twice right before I went to bed. I know, sounds minor. I know, it could be a common cold. But isn’t that one heck of a coincidence? I started wondering if I’m allergic to being pregnant. Maybe just being pregnant is making me sick. I know; it’s insane!

So this morning I had a bit of a breakdown. Ugly crying right into my bowl of Rice Chex and riling up the dogs, since you know that when you’re crying the first thing they want to do is offer comfort. But that just makes me cry harder, so really they’re not doing me any favors. I pulled myself together enough to go to work, but within a few hours I was back to crying (silently, this time) and panicking. I still wasn’t feeling nauseated at all.

I texted my mom and sister, who offered reassurances, but it wasn’t until my mom said, “Why don’t you just go call Dr. K and get an ultrasound so you can calm down?” that I finally took action. See, that’s what I’d been wanting to do all along, but I felt nuts for even considering it. I just got an ultrasound on Monday. Besides the dream, the cold, and the absence of nausea, what was really different? Nothing. But still, with her blessing, I felt like I could finally make the call. I still have to make it through a full day of work Friday, a wedding Saturday (where I’ll be seeing my ex and his entire family, btw), and all of Sunday before that next ultrasound. I knew that mentally I just could not bear it.

So I went out to my car and called the OB/GYN. I was crying pretty hard and on the verge of hyperventilating as I explained the situation, but thankfully the nurse must be used to crazy pregnant chicks because she agreed to schedule me an appointment for 30 minutes later. I instantly felt the anxiety melting away just from getting that appointment.
I went back inside, gathered up my stuff in case I wouldn’t be coming back (if news was bad) and headed on over. I wasn’t nearly as nervous as I had been earlier since I knew my answer was minutes away, but I also still wasn’t nauseated. So I tried to mentally prepare for whatever may lie ahead.

No one at the office acted like I was insane, even though I felt that way. The minute the ultrasound began I saw the flicker and said, “Oh, thank GOD,” and the PA laughed and said, “Haha, I guess you know what to look for.” Baby is measuring right on, 7w1d. Heartbeat is 155.

I felt silly after leaving, but also relieved. I can’t think of a better way to spend my lunch hour than getting peace of mind to get me through the weekend. Oh, and now we are officially further along than we got with pregnancy #2… 7w1d was the exact day that we found out we lost Baby Toast (a fact that did occur to me as I was driving over).

I think maybe I have pregnancy PTSD. Sometimes I feel like I have a handle on this, but sometimes I feel so overwhelmed that I can’t hold back my emotions. I want to believe that everything is going to be all right, but all I’ve experienced is everything going wrong. I’m a mess. One minute I’m excited, the next I’m scared out of my mind. I know this stress is no good for the baby (which was another justification for the emergency ultrasound today), but I can’t get out of my own head. And the worst part of all is that I literally. have. no. control. I’m doing everything that I possibly can, but it still may not be enough. If you could have a baby through sheer force of will, I’d have 1,000 by now. But you can’t. You have to rely on this intangible thing inside yourself that you cannot influence in any way.

Well, that and you have to pray (you know…if you pray). Which I have been doing. Praying for this pregnancy, praying for peace, praying for sanity. It helps.

So that’s my Halloween story. Baby is fine…mama is crazy…and I get a smidgen of reassurance as we trudge on towards Monday.

Jul 18

a little help

Jul 18

I’m the kind of person who hates asking for directions. One time when I had just gotten my license, I decided to load up my brother and sister and spend a summer weekday at the beach. There comes a time on the drive back from the Jersey shore to Pennsylvania that the eight lane highway divides and if you’re stuck in the wrong lane, you’re forced far away from the exit you really want. Thinking that I knew New Jersey decently well (hey, I was born there and much of my family still lives there), I got on the turnpike and decided to keep driving until I recognized something. This was pre-GPS, of course. Six hours later I was pulled over and crying in the parking lot of a sketchy McDonald’s with two terrified minors in my backseat. I felt defeated and childlike when all I wanted was to be an adult for the day. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I how I ever found my way home. All I know is that I should have admitted I needed help long before I reached my breaking point.

Similarly, I’ve been attempting to get through all this infertility and miscarriage drama through sheer power of will. I don’t know, maybe I secretly thought there was a prize for gritting my teeth and soldiering through it. Maybe it’s because when I hear the word “Xanax” I picture an anorexic housewife in a Juicy Couture tracksuit, yelling at her minority nanny to keep the baby quiet while she guzzles wine by the bottle and complains to her equally deplorable friend on the phone about how much STRESS she has. Granted, there are plenty of medicated people in the world who don’t take advantage of the system. I pass no judgement on those folks who need and rely on medication. But as for me, I’ve always felt a sense of pride at checking the N/A box at the doctor’s office when asked what prescriptions I’m currently taking. No surgery, no prescriptions, no chronic conditions. Really the first medically interesting thing that’s happened to me so far has been repeat pregnancy loss. It kind of feels like a blemish on my permanent record. But now I’m finally starting to realize that it just doesn’t matter. There’s no award in life for fewest doctor’s appointments (and if there is, I lost out on it anyway once I started infertility treatments).

This is all a big preamble to justify the fact that I finally asked for help from the doctor in the form of anti-anxiety meds. I decided I was going to do it after those pain pills made me feel so calm and relaxed, and then I realized it was the right decision when I had a panic attack yesterday over something sort of stressful but not panic attack worthy (details on that to follow in a later post. Ugh, drama). Of course I realize that I can’t stay on them once we start trying again (and they only gave me half a month’s supply anyway). But I’m hoping that in time, I won’t really need them as much. I have the exact opposite of an addictive personality, so I’ve never really worried about becoming dependent on anything. Not that I’ve ever tried it, but I’m convinced I could shoot heroin, shrug my shoulders and say, “Meh, not bad, but I don’t care if I never do it again.” I’m the kind of person that can smoke a cigarette whenever I want and then just not do it anymore, no problem.

It’s funny how weird I get about taking these low dose pills, yet I had no problem injecting myself with hormones and all kinds of crazy stuff a few short months ago. Maybe it’s because the outcome of the infertility drugs was so much more tangible? Maybe it’s because I place more value on physical health than mental health? I don’t mean to do that. The brain is a mighty force and stress is a big freaking deal (though as I’m starting to realize, NOT necessarily the cause of miscarriage). I know that. It’s just that for me, personally, I always felt like my brain was more powerful than my neuroses. I thought that right up until the point that I realized my brain was really causing my neuroses.

My sister suffered from postpartum depression and she’s one of the biggest reasons I felt OK asking for medication. She went on low dose anti-anxiety pills and was off them in a few short months. It was really no big deal, and she always stayed the same person. She never got a Juicy tracksuit and she never mentioned interviewing nannies or buying wine by the jug. She didn’t want to need medication, but then she did need it, and now she’s all better. It doesn’t get more simple than that. I need to adopt a new mantra: there is no shame in asking for help.

So here I am, joining the ranks of medicated Americans. Because at this point I’m willing to try anything, and I’m sick of feeling two steps away from an anxiety attack every waking minute. It’s time to just freaking calm down.

Jun 15

Anxiety came back and she’s a total bitch (a.k.a. we have a beta)

Jun 15

Sorry to leave you all in suspense for the beta. The sad fact of the matter is, despite running the test yesterday, I didn’t get the results until this evening. It’s kind of a long story.

I went yesterday morning for the beta at a lab in my area, an option that was offered last time but that I didn’t pursue because 1) New Hope insisted on same-day results, and my normal lab doesn’t do those and 2) I was just used to going to New Hope. But last time, after getting super pissed at the 4-hour round-trip bus ride for a 30 second blood draw, I decided to do something different. I’m sure I’ll have to go back to NYC if I make it to the ultrasound stage, but in these first weeks when they’re just drawing blood, it’s 100% ridiculous to go all the way to New York. I found a lab very close to work that does same-day results, and it’s so much more convenient.

The one downfall of outside lab monitoring: waiting. As much as I claimed to be calm, by 3 p.m. yesterday I was starting to feel a little anxious. For my first beta, I’m pretty sure they called around noontime. Yesterday I kept getting up from my desk and forgetting to take my phone with me, then running back expecting to see a missed call and not being able to reach someone. Were they not calling me because it was bad news? I know they don’t do that, but still… my mind was going nuts.

Of course I didn’t decide to reach out and call them until 4:50 yesterday, and of course they didn’t answer the phone. I had to go through last night not really knowing what the answer was, and on top of that I got a pregnancy announcement from someone pretty close to my inner circle of family/friends (can’t spill who, not sure if she’s “out” yet). I was happy and excited and frankly unsurprised since I knew she wanted another child, but you know… pregnancy announcements bring up such mixed emotions, even though I kept trying to inwardly calm myself with “It’s OK! You’re pregnant too! I mean, probably. Hopefully. Maybe.” It just would have been so much easier to take it all in if I had my solid beta number in my pocket.

This morning I called New Hope first thing, and they claimed to not have received the results, which is why they didn’t call. They gave me a number to fax the results to that was completely different from the one on the paper, so I’m thinking the lab just faxed it to the wrong place. I called the lab, and they agreed to fax it to the new number. Phew. The woman on the phone was literally looking at my results so of course I had to ask, “You can’t tell me what they are, can you? Wink, wink?” She could not. It was just so frustrating knowing that she saw my fate, but I had to wait to hear it. Damn privacy laws. You’re protecting confidential information about me from me. Doesn’t make much sense.

I called New Hope in a couple of hours and they confirmed that the fax came through. Again, the receptionist couldn’t tell me what the results said, and just promised that someone would call me back once the doctor looked them over. I waited. I waited. My phone was permanently attached to my hand, even in the bathroom. We threw a baby shower for a girl at work today, so I sat through the entire thing willing the phone to just freaking ring – yes, another baby-centric event I had to endure with no damn beta.

They never called. I finally emailed and got back a response in about 5 minutes (who would have thought that could work?). And the answer is… Yes, pregnant. Beta is 32.

32.

32?!

Last round my beta at 7dpt was 155. This time, it’s 32. Since my response came in the form of an email and not a phone call, I couldn’t express my skepticism at this number or badger anyone to make sure it’s acceptable. I’m currently badgering a friend from the IF world via text, which I’m sure she appreciates.

So Anxiety is back, full force. Worry is back. Calm packed his bags and left. Why do I have to know any of this shit? Why do I have to obsess over betas and doubling? Why can’t I just pee on a stick and assume that in 9 months I’ll just have a baby? Faaaaccckkkkkkkk it.

Jun 01

can someone get me off this emotional roller coaster, please?

Jun 01

I’ve mentioned before that at my RE’s office, most of the doctors/nurses/techs don’t speak English very well. So far my biggest issue with that has been the recurring need to make them repeat things during phone calls, and the occasional abrupt and funny conversation. Then yesterday happened.

I went for CD11 blood and sono and had to wait until 4 freaking 30 for the results. The whole day started off on a sour note because I had my least favorite tech for the sono, the same tech who did my “your babies have no heartbeat” scan, so I was already feeling a little weird about the whole thing (at least it wasn’t the same room). She usually tells me nothing, except life-changing, terrible news, but today she said, “Mostly we are looking at the lining… you’re at 7.7, that’s perfect… Follicle on the left is measuring 21, and you’ll ovulate soon.” OK, I can live with perfect. Great. But then I had to wait eight hours for the blood results, which is uncommon. Despite my earlier good news, throughout the day I convinced myself that my hormone levels would be unacceptable and we’d have to cancel this cycle. They finally called.

English as a Second Language Nurse: “I do not know how to say this…”

Shit, right? She even repeated it, followed by a long silence. My heart dropped. Tears formed. I was working from home, so I looked forlornly out into the backyard, doing quick mental calculations of how we could possibly afford to do an FET on our own by next month. What about a yard sale? Maybe I could sell a kidney? How long would it take to raise the money? Seriously, in the space of 30 seconds I was already offering up my own organs to get pregnant again. Then she continued:

ESL Nurse: “I do not know how to say this, but did you give us a copy of the tissue results from your D&C? Do we have those?”

On the list of phrases to be banned from fertility clinics, I’m going to have to recommend that “I do not know how to say this” should be in the top ten. She literally did not know how to say something. I guess she didn’t realize that in the English language, prefacing your statement with, “I do not know how to say this,” means that the next thing you say will be awful, awful news. I felt both relieved and emotionally drained once I figured out what the hell she was actually saying. We straightened out the paperwork snafu and then she gave me my transfer date – June 6th. I don’t even have to go back for monitoring between now and then. I just have to start my Estrace, start my lovely PIO injections, and show up at 11:30 on Thursday to get pregnant.

I feel weird about this. We did a natural cycle FET last time, so I feel good about that, but I remember going back every day around ovulation to determine the precise time of it happening. They even gave me some nasal spray to induce it when I hadn’t ovulated by CD15. But this time, they’re just like, “Uhhh… yeah, come back Thursday. That should be good.” Maybe because it worked last time, so they don’t feel the need to be so precise? Maybe they don’t care that much? I just don’t know. And once again…I’m at the mercy of these people and cannot demand answers since I’m not a paying customer. I’m just a number in a study. I’m just a girl getting a free ride who needs to sit down and shut up.

I got a second emotional smack in the face on that same phone call. At my miscarriage ultrasound, Dr. L mentioned the possibility of just transferring one embryo for the next round. I’ve been mulling that over for the past 6 weeks and had finally come to terms with it being a good idea. I was scared of my ability to handle twins, especially for my first children, not to mention the added risks of having multiples. Plus it felt even more like trying to “replace” my lost children. So I made the decision. Yes, we would just transfer one. I had a higher level of confidence that just one would work since both of them stuck last time.

On the call, ESL Nurse said, “We will transfer two embryos.” I protested, mentioning that Dr. L had offered to just do one, but she said, “No, no that would break protocol. We have to do two.” So again… six weeks of planning and decision making was out the window. I’m scared enough to be pregnant; now the likely chance of twins again? I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m just so worried. (And before you ask if I can just talk to Dr. L, I’m now remembering that she kept getting confused if I was a clinical trial or regular patient. So she probably thought I was regular when she offered to do one. I know it makes more sense that they would have to do two again, so they don’t screw up the study).

I know, I sound like an asshole. Here I am so concerned about achieving the greatest goal: getting pregnant. Poor Amanda, her lining is just too welcoming and sticky. But I am a little messed up about the twins thing. More than I realized before I got that call. I’m stuck in that same conflicting place of wanting both my babies but only wanting to have one at a time. I can’t have it both ways, I know that.

This post just reeks of skepticism and negativity, I’m now realizing, but the entire gist of it is good news. I get to do a transfer this cycle. I knew it would be June 6th because that is my dear friend’s birthday, a friend who has been inexplicably linked to my infertility in strange and amazing ways (post explaining this further to follow). When I saw that things were lining up for early June, I thought, “The 6th. It’s definitely the 6th,” and it was.

Onward to Thursday, then…

Wheee!

May 04

a bargain hunter’s paradise

May 04

I don’t know about you guys, but I get serious anxiety whenever I’m bargain hunting. Not that this is any different than my normal state of existence, but it kicks into high gear whenever I’m within ten miles of a yard sale or a TJ Maxx.

Here are the problems:

1) I hate to feel like I’m missing out on something,
2) I always imagine someone else scoring an item that’s perfect for me,

and

3) I always feel like I’m arriving too late and missed all the good shit.

Despite these truths, I absolutely love clearance shopping. I have no qualms about digging through racks and bins to uncover amazing finds. In fact, the more buried the treasure, the more value I attribute to that particular item. One of my favorite treasure hunting spots is Ross Dress for Less. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel dirty the minute you walk in. It’s like the Walmart of off-price retailers in terms of clientele and cleanliness. But the bargains? Unbeatable. They have the same housewares as TJ Maxx and Marshalls but so, so much cheaper. Those places can be kind of expensive, even for discount store standards. For home goods, I go to Ross. For clothing, yes, Marshalls and TJ Maxx are better. (I swear, I’m not getting paid to say any of this, even if it’s starting to sound that way).

The Far Hills Rummage Sale (if you click on the link, understand that these pics do not do it justice) has been described to me as “a place where super rich people discard unwanted Vera Wang sheaths and Louboutin pumps that are so last season.” For those of you not familiar with the area, Far Hills is a New Jersey suburb of Manhattan where most residents are very well off. Common sense dictates that a yard sale in an expensive development tends to yield better finds than a yard sale in a trailer park. No kidding. So my mom and I finally hit up the Far Hills Rich Person Castoff Sale for the first time in October.

map of so much good stuff!

The whole thing is overwhelming, but in a good way. There are tents set up by category and people line up outside, so you’re never really fighting for elbow room as you’re digging through the racks. They literally have everything. EVERYTHING. I read in one article that there were 25,000 plush toys, 2,500 vinyl records, 2,000 pairs of women’s shoes and 50,000 books. Not hard to believe – just when you think you’re done looking, there’s more to see. At the October event, I made a beeline for the Boutique tent (clearly) and scored a bunch of adorable dresses that could have come straight off a rack at Nordstrom. Many of them still had tags on them. No, I did not find Louboutins, but I did spy a few pairs of Coach sandals and plenty of other respectable brands (rumor has it that the Manolos are gone before you can blink). The best part? The system is streamlined so that you just pay one price for each type of item. So all shirts, regardless of condition or designer, are $5. All high-end designer dresses (think Cynthia Steffe, Alice + Olivia, French Connection, Laundry, etc.) are $25. Yes, you read that correctly. $25. With tags. Hallelujah.

Admittedly, this season’s haul was a bit less impressive than last fall’s. The sale goes on for three days, and the diehards all line up first thing Friday morning (which is when mama bear and I went in October). This year we skipped the Friday crowd and went on a Saturday, so the Boutique tent had fewer amah-zing frocks.

We did find a whole bunch of random things, including one thing I’ve been trying to talk myself into buying for ages now… an under-the-desk elliptical machine. These babies go for about $100 on Amazon, so I hadn’t pulled the trigger just yet. But at the Rummage Sale? $15. I could not be more excited. I’m the girl who swapped her desk chair for a giant fitness ball months ago, but it’s not as effective as I’d hoped. This elliptical thing is perfect. Bring on the buns of steel.

Oh, and since I’ve made it through five paragraphs without mentioning baby drama, I’ll mention now that I did suck it up and peruse the maternity section (because, you know, I’m insane). It was oddly disappointing. I’m talking one small rack of totally random, ugly clothes with a preggo chick huffing and puffing her way through it, lamenting that she had “Four more weeks to go. Just four more weeks to go.” You’d think maternity wear, the single biggest category of castoffs, would be a gold mine. But alas, no. At least I didn’t have to obsess over it.

under the desk elliptical!

Jan 28

eggs!

Jan 28

I feel like the theme of this journey has been “we just made it by the skin of our teeth.” I don’t know if it’s actually that way, or if it just feels that way because everything is so unpredictable and so important. We aren’t in the clear just yet, but after today it definitely feels like the scariest parts are over.

The egg retrieval was Sunday at 9:20 a.m., precisely 36 hours after my giant needle “trigger shot” to the ass on Friday night (administered by my mother-in-law, thank you very much, since Eric could not stomach it). Eric and I took the train into the city and thanks to my inability to comprehend very obvious schedule change signs on the subway, arrived 15 minutes late for the appointment. I was immediately whisked off to get blood drawn, where the tech had trouble finding a vein because I’m so black and blue and yellow. Great times were had by all. It was especially fun hearing that they accidentally took blood when they didn’t need to and had to just throw it away. Thanks for that!

I went in for an ultrasound, my very first interaction with the doctor whose name is on all my prescriptions. He reprimanded me for being late and quickly confirmed that I had not ovulated yet, saying “Good, good. Eggs still there. You go now.” Only after this all transpired did I realize how badly that could have gone if the eggs were NOT still there – that would basically mean this entire month of needles, stress, hormones and excessive drainage to my bank account would be worthless. Had I known it was that easy to fail, I would have been a lot more anxious going in for that part. I’m so glad that I didn’t know.

While still trying to process the gravity of what had happened, I was sent in to the on-site OR and instructed to put on my cap and gown. There was a small waiting area where 2 other women were already waiting. I sat there, mentally freaking out as usual, convinced that in the 30 minutes I had to wait I would somehow lose all the eggs and suffer the same tragedy that I had just narrowly avoided. Seriously, my capacity for worst case scenario planning knows no bounds. Of course, that did not happen. They called me in and the wonderfully over-the-top flamboyant anesthesiologist quickly got to work making me laugh and feel totally comfortable, saying things like “Ohh girrrrrl, we gonna get you a Dora band aid for that arm. You deserve it!” That’s probably the only reason I didn’t punch him in the face when he put the IV in the same freaking vein they had just drawn from accidently. Yeah, that kind of HURT LIKE HELL.

This was also the moment that the doctor chose to tell me that my estrogen levels were too high and I was at risk for Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS), a complication that can affect up to 33% of women undergoing IVF. For that reason the embryo transfer had to be delayed 1 month. I started panicking (what else is new?) and said, “No wait, it has to be this month!” She asked why and I stupidly stuttered, “Well… because..I’m impatient.” The doctor was not amused, reminding me that my health was the #1 concern and also saying that the transfer was more likely to work if my levels went down. She also acted like I was being a big baby, which was absolutely true. The anesthesiologist had found my vein by this point, and one second I was looking at blue stars projected on the ceiling, the next I was being helped into a wheelchair. Easy, peasy lemon squeezy.

The anesthesia, or as Eric would say, “Amanda’s $500 nap,” was optional. If you ever find yourself in this situation and have the option – DO IT. I was stressed enough, and the thought of being awake and “kind of” feeling this procedure still makes me want to cry. I know that I 100% made the right decision when I chose to be put under.

Recovery was fine, but took forever. On a scale of 1 – 10 my pain was a 2, just like mild cramps but higher up. Today it’s a little worse, but still just maybe a 4 on the pain scale. I would have expected much worse.

So that’s where we are. I’m pissed off that I have to wait, but then I remind myself I’m lucky to be doing this at all. Matt the study coordinator had tentatively proposed doing a pregnancy test by Valentine’s Day, so that date was stuck in my head and that would have been so cute. But no, that won’t be happening now.

It is nice to be giving my body a rest from all the shots, I think I obviously need that. Sorry folks, we have to just march on to March. Side note: I’m making an egg casserole for dinner tonight. Creepy, weird or funny? Maybe all of the above.
eggs

Jan 21

IVF: not for the disorganized

Jan 21

This ride has been quite bumpy. At times I feel like I’m getting my master’s degree in anxiety (and I’m acing all my classes).

My first prescription was a 14 day supply of Lupron with 14 syringes. I was told to get the next medication, Bravelle, by the 14th of January. Despite the fact that I was in Colorado and the shipment was delayed a whole day due to “excessive fog,” it arrived on time. I almost felt smug – but I wasn’t quite in the clear. My next appointment in NYC was on the 15th, after a full day of air travel, going to bed at 3 a.m. and waking up at 6 a.m. To say I was tired would be an understatement. My appointment went fine but by the time I got home, all I wanted to do was sleep. Possibly forever. I woke up from my nap to a voicemail from NHFC. A no-nonsense nurse read off my numbers in quick succession (assuming I would understand their significance?) and gave explicit instructions for dosage on the Bravelle. But then she said, “also continue taking the Lupron, we’ll see you on the 21st for bloodwork, goodbye.” Wait, what? But… I have no needles? What to do? Obviously this was after office hours (it was a nice, long nap) and the Bravelle needles were too huge to use for the Lupron. The units of measure were different. Plus, I suck at math.

I had a mini freak out and became convinced that not doing my shot would ruin everything. But this “keep doing the Lupron” was a complete surprise. I managed to go to sleep, wake up, go to work, play catch up after practically a week off, and send an urgent email and leave an urgent voicemail on the clinical trial mailboxes. No reply. By 1 p.m. I called the main number, practically in hysterics, and said, “I need to speak to a person. Please do not transfer me to an extension and make me leave another message. No one calls me back. I NEED A HUMAN.” The receptionist thankfully obliged and transferred me to a living, breathing nurse. She promised to call in the prescription to my pharmacy immediately.

At 2 p.m. I called the pharmacy. Of course, they had no record of the prescription. I called NHFC back and was promised a returned call from the “prescription specialist” even though that’s not even necessarily who I spoke with in the first place. Another hour went by. I called NHFC again and magically, someone did call in the prescription (though did not call me back as promised). I called the pharmacy to confirm. The pharmacist looked up the prescription, confirmed it was received, and then went on to say, “Looks like we’ll need to order it…” If I could have jumped through the phone, I would have. Not in stock? Regular old syringes, like diabetics use? I made some sort of strangled gasping sound and she quickly asked “Oh, do you need it today?” I said, “YES. I DEFINITELY NEED IT TODAY.” She put me on hold and I lost it. Just cried like I meant it in a dark and empty conference room at work. She was back in under a minute with assurances that I could pick them up that day. Thank GOD.

I find it funny that I ever used to cringe at needles. Not only do I get 2 injections per day at my kitchen table, but I’m now a pro at rolling up my sleeves and giving blood, upper arm rubber band (whatever the hell that thing is called) and all. It wasn’t too long ago that the mere thought of this made me queasy. The tech today asked if I wanted to use my other arm and whether my left arm was sore, and only then did I notice it’s bruised a lovely yellow and purple color. I can’t even feel it.

I hope this doesn’t sound like complaining; I’m only slightly aggravated with how things are going. This clinic is busy with a capital B and that’s not their fault. I insisted on seeing study coordinator Matt today – if nothing else, to prove that he’s still around – and without saying so explicitly, he managed to make me feel paranoid and slightly delusional. Once I am at NHFC, my fears all seem exaggerated. At home, I’m constantly questioning if I’m really doing it right.

We’re on track to do the retrieval this weekend, or thereabouts. My blood results were “good/normal/in range.” Argh, this is getting more detail oriented than I ever intended. Apologies! After next week I plan to stay quiet, or at least about this subject matter, for a while. I hadn’t really planned on what to do once the big day came and went. I guess I’ll just go with the flow. In the meantime, please enjoy this illustration.
funoutof .