The Seven Stages of Fertility Treatment

Okay, so here's what went down. I went in last Saturday morning for another ultrasound/bloodwork. By then, I had eight follicles, five of which were big enough that they had to be taken into account, including one at 19 mm. My doctor had said that five would be the most he would consider moving forward with for the IUI, so I went and spoke with the nurse. She dropped the "m" word -- multiples -- and made sure we were aware of the risks. But as she also pointed out, they've been trying to get me pregnant to no avail, and this seemed to be a good opportunity.

I got a bit stressed about the multiples warning and did some thinking as we left the office. I do want a baby, but I don't want five, and certainly not at once. But the nurse spoke with my doctor and called back later that afternoon, with instructions to take just half the dose of HCG to trigger ovulation that night at 9 p.m. It seemed clear that we should go for it, and with the dosage halved to mitigate the threat of high-order multiples, I felt better.

Luckily, Saturday night brought us to an event in New Hampshire with our friends Chris and Robin, who just happens to be a nurse. Having only used the Gonal-f pen for injections previously, I found the whole mixing the HCG powder and using a real syringe more than a bit daunting, so at 9 p.m., me, my husband and Robin trekked out to the car for a celebrated Saturday evening pastime: subcutaneous injection to stimulate ovulation. Thirty-six hours later, at 9 a.m. on Monday morning, I had my first IUI. And that brings me to the Seven Stages of Fertility Treatment:

1. Euphoria. I just had a fertility treatment! Washed sperm are swimming around in there just jonesing for a rendez-vous with my ripe egg.

2. Confusion. Wait, that's it? I'm just supposed to go about my day now? Shouldn't I do something else, like stand on my head or keep my legs in stirrups all day?

3. Disappointment. I thought there'd be something more dramatic about this. I can't tell what's going on in there and I don't feel that excited about what's going on anymore.

4. Delusion. I am going to have to stay calm for the next two weeks. No snapping at people, yelling at people on bikes who get in the way of my car. No feelings of anxiety, worry, sadness, anger, negativity allowed. My body must be a temple for conception to take place.

5. Doubt. I don't feel any different. My boobs are sore but I can't tell if that's from poking them a hundred times to see if they're sore. I bet it didn't work.

6. Pessimism. Damn it! What if it didn't work? Yet another failure to add to the long list.

7. Hope. But actually, there's still a chance! In less than two weeks, I'm going to get a call from my favorite nurse going something like this: "I'm so happy to be the one to give you this wonderful news. You're pregnant, and we can tell there's just one (or two) in there!"

Repeat #s 6 and 7, alternating, thousands of times per day. That's about where I'm at right now.

-J.