Which Would You Like First?

The good news: 14 eggs. 11 fertilised normally, with one further one showing ‘faint’ partial indicators of fertilisation. They are Pleased, and going for blastocyst culture.  

The bad news: I have developed OHSS (Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome) and have spent an exceptionally wretched half-day and night, before recovering significantly this morning. I didn’t realise you could develop OHSS after retrieval, and so spent the night wondering fearfully what the hell was wrong with my innards, and just what on earth this whole can’t-breathe-properly thing was about.

I managed to faint after staggering to the bog yesterday afternoon, coming round – damply – on the floor of our ensuite, which I subsequently made a promise to myself to clean far, far more often. It was an elbows-and-knees trip to the bedroom phone to summon assistance back into bed – where John had installed me earlier in the day, rather less ill, and sleeping off what we supposed was sedation-after-effects, before trotting off with Poxy (who was very poorly indeed over the weekend, now greatly improved) to farm.

I have to confess, whilst lying on the bedroom floor struggling to dial for help, I wondered if my time had come. I did feel so awfully, awfully wretched. ‘You’ve only fainted, you fool!’ roared the sensible half of me in disdainful contempt, whilst the other half merely whimpered and worried what the funeral director would think of me for being lightly urine-soaked and wearing only my oldest, most moth-chewed Wallace and Gromit t-shirt. It’s not quite how I pictured myself going, somehow.

John supervised my return to bed, medicated me with pain-killers, attempted to hydrate me – which I neglected to drink, purely because it hurt to extend my arm as far as the bedside table, and then proceeded to twiddle his thumbs while looking nonplussed. Although meaning as well as the next husband, John can’t really be bothered with nursing poorly people; he evidently feels quite sorry for the Wifey plight, but these feelings are battling against his fundamental belief that pain is simply weakness leaving the body, and a decent bracing jog up and down our hill would do me no end of good. Having googled OHSS, and realising that one could – and probably had – develop it post-retrieval, he became a little worried over my breathing difficulties, and proceeded to exhort me to Drink Water and Walk About; I am obediently trying to comply.

When my clinic got around to ringing me back from my message this morning (you have to leave a message. My clinic Does Not Answer telephones, the under-funded, infuriating buggers) the nurse told me that lots of ladies have these symptoms after retrieval, and I shouldn’t assume I have OHSS, and how many eggs had I produced, and how did I really feel now? I was irritatingly reminded of the midwife who told me I was mistaking Harry’s skipped heartbeats for my own abdominal sounds (yes, yes, she really did say that) and I weakly huffed stroppily at her (which I had no right to do, because I knew I was ill almost as soon as I came round from yesterday’s sedation, and should totally have either not left the unit at all, or re-admitted myself last night to the emergency gynae ward, but the thought of another sat-upright jolty 30-mile car-ride was utterly unthinkable, and I was absolutely buggered if I was calling an ambulance) that I was/had been in acute pain, producing brown urine, extremely short of breath, ribs were being forced outwards by the pressure of my incredibly distended abdomen, and my shoulders both hurt like billy-o.

She conceded that I did, indeed, have classic-sounding OHSS, which satisfied me, and said she would like to have me looked at. However, as I would far rather be ill at home than hospital, and as I am feeling decidedly more human this morning, and as I can now move around in/out of bed without fainting/screaming, we finally agreed that I should admit myself only if my discomfort and breathing fails to improve further by this afternoon. My mother, who understands John’s disposition towards invalids, has arrived to mind both Poxy and I (not only did she buy me, her spoilt middle-class brat treasured only child, an iPhone 4 on Sunday, but she is currently busy washing the crocks from the Mothering Sunday roast dinner I cooked her…!) and I am off to drink more water and shuffle about the place looking rotund, pale and interesting.

Oh, and have a small triumphant crow, too, for my eleven fertilised + one maybe.

Cock-a-doodle-cluck! Or something.

25 Responses

  1. Jesus, HFF. That is scary-sounding stuff.
    Would you maybe be able to do us scared readers a favour and get yourself checked out by a doc who knows about OHSS ASAP? Even if you don’t feel sick enough for hospital?
    Hope you recover quickly…

    • No worries, lovey: I can feel that I’m distinctly less fluid-filled now, and my blood-pressure has come back up nicely. I am sat in state in bed, avec laptop, a omnibus of Wodehouse’s Uncle Fred, and a bowl of fruit. I couldn’t have typed without howling in pain yesterday, and you can see I’m now burbling away as normal. Well on my way to health!

      • If you say so! you had me worried there! Fingers crossed you get back to normal ASAP. And that those embryos keep on keepin’ on.

  2. Aggh, lady, you’re scaring me! I hope you are feeling VERY MUCH BETTER, indeed — if not, please go get checked.

    I knew exactly what you meant when you described lying on the floor in the bathroom. I myself planned a funeral there, and, yes, wished I’d mopped just a touch more often:


    Good times. May this be the only time you do that, ever.

    • “making poor Paul listen to Blood-soaked Tales of Horror from the Master Bathroom, rendered in glorious verbal Technicolor” – ohhh, yes, indeedy. I’m sure John enjoyed being rung up mid-morning to be informed gleefully that my much-dreaded but inevitable bowel movement had come in significantly under-pain-budget, but the progesterone pessary had made a successful greased bid for freedom! I’m like an old chap telling relentless war stories.

  3. Oh God, Ann, you poor darling. Fainting on the bathroom floor indeed, always a high-water-mark of Today Fucking Sucks.

    *Gentle trembly hug*

    Very glad you’re deflating. Was thinking of you yesterday, but clearly not thinking hard enough, as I nowhere factored in counter-acting an abdomen full of fluid and Angry Ovaries. Must do better in future.

    I am gesticulating vigorously in the direction of Nurse Smug-face Assumption-maker. We’re not ALL intellectual cripples, thank you.

    Ann, pee onwards, brave and noble soldier! May this all be the most splendid anecdote to be coming up with in future years when your Mother’s Day bouquet is not forthcoming.

    14 eggs! 11 fertilized! You’re a prize Buff Orpington, so you are.

  4. Oh my goodness. Well, I’m very glad that you’re feeling better and I hope that John is keeping a close eye on you despite his inherent suspicion of illness (pain is weakness exiting the body, heh). Please get better soon.

    And congratulations on your bumper crop! I just now re-noticed your Battery Hen Welfare Trust link. You may be feeling a bit like a battery hen yourself right now?…

    Should I, god forbid, ever have that bathroom-floor possible-last-moments experience, I would probably (no, DEFINITELY) think the exact same thoughts about its cleanliness. Why us though? Why not the other half who should have left us a sparkling floor on which to expire, hmmmmm? (Yeah, I know. But I can dream.)

  5. Ugh, that sounds horrible. Am very pleased that you’re feeling better though, and also that 11 fertilised. 11! and a half! That’s a football team! And maybe the half could be the ball?
    On a separate note, your renaming of Harry, Poxy, made me splutter my apple juice all over my keyboard. Cheered me up muchly, thank you!

  6. oy gevalt. so sorry. will now revert to medical lecture, as this is how my clan expresses concern and affection: you need electrolytes, not just water. drink gatorade, foul though it is. my doc said no more than 1.5 L/day. i developed a real fondness for miso soup in this state (less severe than yours, i think, and still sucky, so sympathies!). also protein. you are losing that too, so eat some. xo

  7. oooo! and three cheers for all them eggs!

    in fact, have14 cheers.

  8. Argh. I hope you recover swiftly!

    But YAY on the 14 eggs!

  9. Golly gosh 14 eggs – well done you! I never managed that many in 3 whole cycles. But then I escaped the vile sounding OHSS. Poor you. My bathroom floor is not great either so I feel for you. Nothing worse than being crumpled up on it in agony. So by now you should be totally better or aim joining the chorus of get you to a doctor.

  10. 11 fertilised is looking very encouraging.

    I had a night on the tiles too – but assumed it was a result of the drugs not possible OHSS. Either way keep, keep, keep necking the water.

    Getting very excited now.

  11. Urgh. Please, please get better soon. Great news on the eggs though. Fantastic.xxx

  12. Good grief woman! Scary!

  13. Yay! for 11 fertilized eggs!

    Boo! for OHSS!

    Hope you’re feeling much, much better by now.

    Ovaries seem to have more nerves per square inch than any other body part, don’t they?

    Weakness leaving the body, huh? We need to have a long talk with that boy.

  14. Ack! Hope you feel better soon. I’m sure your lovely mother will take great care of you.

    But! 11 eggs?! Woohoo! I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you and the HFF on that front. Good luck!

  15. “I am off to drink more water and shuffle about the place looking rotund, pale and interesting.”

    That is the funniest sentence I have read in ages. The addition of “interesting” is inspired.

    Sorry to hear about the OHSS, but good news for all of those eggs! I barely remember what all that jazz means anymore, but I know it’s good, good news! Look after yourself lady.

  16. Loud cheering and flag-waving for the stupendous egg results. Hissing etc for the rest of it!

    Can see from the comment replies that you are probably over the worst of it so I’m crossing fingers (again) that the next step is successful too 😉

  17. Hurray for all the fertilized eggs! Sorry to hear that you’re experiencing OHSS, though. That sucks. Be careful.

    So, in the interests of comparison, and since you have all those embryos…and because I’m an ass who likes to ask obnoxious questions…are you going to load up both uteri? You know, to see if one works better than the other? (Did I make you spit out your water?)

    Feel better soon!

  18. Great horde of eggs. Thank heaven all this was not for nothing.

    So sorry, though, about the night on the tiles. Blimey.
    Even Mr Hairy was concerned which is surely a sign of impending death. However, you are sitting, you are typing, you are drinking flat 7up or some equally as nasty. So I am reassured.

  19. For me, the best OHSS remedy is a prior twin delivery- oodles of abdomen to go around. Sadly.


  20. Have pulled the rah-rah skirt out of mothballs and am applying myself to making the neccessary pom-poms for Cheering On Purposes.

    As for the OHSS I am ignoring it’s bastard presence and hope it has totally cleared off by now.

  21. 14 cheers for 14 huevos! Your link to the OHSS page was scary — hope this was the last you’ll see of it and that you are fully recovered now. Docs are assuming full speed ahead with impending blastocyst transfer(s), right?

  22. Poor you but whoop whoop on the egg front!!!!!

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