So, I started my ‘roids yesterday morning. After three unexplained miscarriages, a whole host of autoimmune diagnoses (Hashimoto’s, endometriosis, Raynaud’s) and suspected diagnoses (Lupus? Rheumatoid Arthritis?), a full battery of immune testing, and a visit to the reproductive immunologist, it was decided that a low daily dose of steroids might be beneficial during this IVF. The theory goes that, by quieting my haywire, over-active immune system, we might actually be able to trick my body into holding on to a pregnancy for once. So, bottoms up.
I’ve heard of others having difficulty sleeping as a result of steroid use, so I asked my clinic if it would be wise to take them in the morning. They agreed with that plan, so that’s what I’ve done. I’m laughing at that now, of course, as I initially started this post last night and promptly fell asleep at around 9:30 before getting the chance to finish it. Insomnia my ass.
I also did my first go-round of injections last night. 225 Gonal, 75 Menopur, and 5 units Lupron. Other than a little bit of a learning curve with mixing the Menopur (how genius are Q-caps, by the way; why don’t we get them with HCG?), all went smoothly. It dawned on me then and there, however, how dang much Gonal I’m using this time around. My first injectables cycle I only used one 900 Gonal pen for the entire cycle. This time? I’m going to kill a 900 pen before I even go in for my first monitoring appointment on Monday. Sheesh! (And, I totally don’t even have any right to complain seeing as I’m actually a pretty good responder… or at least we think I will be?)
I think it’s pure coincidence, but I’m already crediting my ‘roids for some super human healing powers. I totally screwed up my knee at my fitness class on Wednesday (see people, this is what happens when you exercise! Much safer on my sofa…). Yesterday I was hobbling around like an awkward fawn, and moving my heating pad with me to each new desk I had to sit at. (Luckily, my colleagues are used to my “quirks.”) Today? Yea, still a teensy bit sore, but honestly much, much better. Sure, it was probably just a pulled muscle that corrected itself as pulled muscles are prone to do, but I’m gonna believe it was the healing elixir of my new little pill, the baseballer’s best friend. Cause, you know, I’m hardcore like that.
I’m glad the knee is on the mend as well because we are headed out of town tonight to make the drive down to the in-laws. Mr. But IF’s home town agricultural fair is happening, so we’ve got a long day of wandering around looking at barnyard creatures and eating fried things to attend to. It’s funny how our pre-marriage negotiations went.
Me: “I want kids. At least 2. When we’re young.”
Him: “Sure. No matter where we live, though, I want to get back to the Fair at least every other year. K?”
Me: “Yea, why not. I’m sure the kids will love it!”
Well, at least one of us is winning at life, eh?
So, to summarize, drugs flowing, knee mending, fair going. Happy Friday!