Rarely in this fertility business do you find yourself spending less money than expected. Yesterday, when I handed over my debit card at the clinic after the intralipids, I was happily surprised when the session cost €260, not €350 as Dr O had advertised. I don’t think Dr O has a handle on mundane things like pricing, too busy thinking about immune issues. So, technically, in my mind at least, I will save €270 on the three sessions, if I get as far as the third that is. At least €180 anyway. I know this is like feeling as if you’ve made money when people pay you for cinema tickets you booked on your credit card, but still.
After a decent breakfast of muesli with yoghurt, blueberries and pomegranate, and a drink of hot water as instructed, I headed to the clinic in a warm jumper covering my arms and with a little handwarmer stuck up one sleeve. I also left off the Clexane. It worked a treat, and the nurse found a decent vein I’ve never used before to the left of the bloody bruised mess they gave me yesterday. Is there a name for the inside of your arm opposite the elbow, where they draw blood? I guess there must be, like the funny bit under your nose, philtrum I think. Well, mine is purple and green like a raging thundercloud.
If you haven’t had intralipids before, it’s a really white liquid that looks pretty much like emulsion paint. They hook it up to the wall behind you once the line is attached to your vein and it slowly drips into your bloodstream. I was the slowest and I think it took me about 50 minutes or so, an hour tops. I asked out of interest how many calories were in one dose and it’s 200 apparently. I had expected it to be more.
All four chairs were taken up in the intralipids room, which looked like a demented hairdressers. One of the girls was pregnant I think and feeling a little sick if I heard her whispered conversation with the nurse correctly. Another girl was working away on her laptop, which must have been difficult when The Jeremy Kyle Show (actually that very episode I’ve linked to there) started snarling away in the background. I was the last to be hooked up and the last to leave, which kind of suited me because, as happens with those sh*tey day-time programmes, I got sucked in and wanted to find out the results of the first DNA test (of course he was her father, they looked identical, come on!).
I felt a little nauseated later on (that sounds a bit uppity but apparently it’s incorrect to say you feel nauseous: nauseous is when something makes you feel sick, eg the smell of rotten eggs is nauseous, whereas nauseated means feeling sick – second bit of English learnings for the day there, don’t mention it), low-level sickness that I can only guess was caused by the intralipids, maybe because I’m on the Omega 3 oil as well, a lot of oil swishing around there, with the Metformin for added measure.
It didn’t stop me going to the cinema that evening but it did stop me going for drinks afterwards. The film was The Stag, the Irish answer to The Hangover, not as laugh-out-loud hilarious but good fun and exactly the bit of light relief we were after. Lots of naked male bums and the excellent actor Andrew Scott, whom I could watch acting for hours, love love love him.
So, first intralipids down and we’re back on the progesterone from today. After three IUIs and one frozen embryo transfer, I will know better than to get all excited about my suddenly veiny and ever so slightly enlarged (as in from a 34A to a 34.005A) boobs and think I am pregnant. It’s just the drugs.
Transfer on Thursday.