Old Mother Hubbard

went to the cupboard

and discovered she owned dessicated gonads.

My antenna waved Danger! as soon as I heard the tone of the nurse’s voice down the phone: even over the bustle of the RSC foyer and Harry’s grief-stricken howls (we had just discovered you need to book a timed ticket to go up the tower, and he had been Promised An Immediate Ascent) I could clearly hear that she was projecting enough Cheerful for two; I swiftly deduced that she anticipated I was about to be in deficit. 

(AMH testing is Clever-Shiny-New fertility science, and they’ve recently changed methodology to a 2nd generation assay giving values 40% higher than previously. Keep Calm and multiply by 1.4 if your previous happy AMH level suddenly looks wide of the goal posts.)

Ovarian Fertility Potential                pmol/L  (Not ng/ml, which’d be helluva lot lower.)
High Level                                            > 67.9 
Optimal Fertility                                    40.04 – 67.9       
Satisfactory Fertility                             21.98 – 40.03              
Low Fertility                                          3.08 – 21.97          
Very Low / Undetectable                    0.0 – 3.07       

I scraped a 20. Distinctly and saddeningly sub-optimal, but not quite fully disintegrated into oocytical dust in the coffins of my ovaries, either.

I… wasn’t expecting bad news. Alive to the possibility, yes, but my Autumn 2009 FSH & E2 were – I quote my Consultant – ‘beautiful’, and I felt reassured. Once I’d got my head around the difference between US & UK lab units of measurement, that is. John had been blithely complacent (the man is a congenital optimist, even appertaining to my haphazard reproductive abilities) that I had the ovaries of a nubile teenager, and has had to mentally regroup accordingly.

Ah, well. It’s been a while since I felt really slugged in the stomach. They do say a change is as good as a rest.

Of course, my previous poor response to gonadotrophins now looks completely divorced from the possibility of a still-stunned pituitary after a shitty downreg, and simply looks like common-or-garden Rapidly Emptying Ovaries instead. And the shortened cycle I was crowing over last night might credibly be the dark horseman of the Menopause galloping towards me, waving his scythe, with hot flushes spilling from his saddlebags.

Damn it.

My Consultant has altered my protocol still further on receipt of this glad news and has now prescribed me Gonal F instead of Menopur: I’m not sure why & absolutely can’t be arsed to Google it; the woman knows her business. 300iu for 10 days pro tem, and we’ll see what we get. Another day older and deeper in debt. Sources of Gonal F are, naturellement, more circumscribed than Menopur, although I have managed, after a few phone calls involving Far Too Many Fucking Zeros to get a quote that just squeaks in at under £700, so the cost differential isn’t as Implicationy as I first thought it might be.

If nothing else, this news has made me feel a little more exculpated for already having chosen IVF over IUI – and exonerated altogether for wanting medical reproductive input this time around. 

I know it only takes one egg, but we’ve got to find the bugger first.

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