My Mind's Ink

The next major step of In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) is obtaining an egg. Actually, the objective is to get several. The process is invasive, and involved, so the best result is to harvest multiple eggs at the same time. To do this you need drugs.

Normally a woman produces one follicle containing one egg each month. The idea is to use chemistry to trick the body into producing more. Several drugs are used to develop multiple follicles, and to trigger each of them to produce an egg at the desired moment. A surgical procedure then removes the contents of the ovaries to obtain the eggs for IVF.

We are given training at the clinic and then administer drug injections at home. I take on the role of nurse, as it seems the least I can do. I give Michelle three injections, in the stomach, each night for a week.

Every two days we go into the clinic for a blood test and an ultrasound. The doctor monitors various hormone levels with the blood, and the state of Michelle’s ovaries with the ultrasound. Her stomach is already bruised from the shots and it now grows swollen and uncomfortable with eggs.

To retrieve the eggs a large bore needle is inserted through the vagina into the ovaries. It is as painful as you expect it would be. Michelle will endure a painful recovery lasting several days.

She gets more drugs for the procedure, but these are more fun. “Are you comfortable?” I ask her. With her legs in stirrups, she nestles back into the pillows, “Ya, this bed rocks.” The cute smile on her face confirms that the drugs have hit her and that she is a little high.

We are anticipating good results. The drugs have stimulated ten follicles in each ovary, which is higher than normal, particularly for a 40 year old. I tease Michelle that she does not have to be an overachiever at everything.

We follow the surgery on the ultrasound. The screen is mostly undecipherable shadows, but you can clearly see the needle as it sucks up the round globules containing the eggs. We are half way through the procedure, everything is gone from one ovary. The pretty young embryologist said she will call out every time she finds an egg under the microscope, but she never calls out, “Egg!”

The doctor looks perplexed, and that is not good. We are involved in a carefully orchestrated series of events. Each step is critical for success.

Thirty six hours before this procedure I gave Michelle one last large injection. This is the first and only time we take this drug. It is called HCG and it matures the eggs. The doctor performs a standard home pregnancy test which will indicate the presence of HCG. There is no sign of it. Another test is done, but still nothing.

Michelle’s cute little smile is gone, and her eyes begin to fill with tears. The doctor tries the other ovary because there are few alternatives now. Nothing surprising happens. No eggs are found. Excited anticipation evaporates and is replaced by overwhelming disappointment. My beautiful wife is in pain, and is heartbroken. She begins to cry in earnest.

Everyone is nice about it, and the doctor relays the facts as gently as he can. “There appears to be no indication of the HCG in your system, that might be the cause of the problem.” They begin to speak to us in the hushed and encouraging tones reserved for personal trauma.

I half listen to the doctor say wonderfully supportive things. We wait to move to the recovery room, and then an agonizing stretch of time until we can leave. I am anxious to get home because there is the answer to the only question I have.

The HCG drug comes in two vials that must be mixed. You extract salt water from one, inject it into another containing powder, and draw out the correct dose of dissolved medicine. Is it possible I set the medicine down after I mixed it, and picked up the vial containing the water?

I help Michelle into the house, and dig the two vials out of the kitchen garbage. They are identical except for fine print on the label. I insert a syringe and withdraw all of the drug I so carefully measured and prepared, but never injected. I had made a mistake and injected Michelle with useless salt water.

She went through it all for nothing. Manage the drugs, that was my only job, and I had insisted on taking it. I did something careless and stupid. I am responsible for my wife’s sorrow and pain, and it is too much to for me to bear.

I begin to cry. I cry like I never have before. I cry big sobbing tears until snot comes out of my nose. My chest heaves, I can’t see, and I hold on to the counter to keep my knees from buckling. Michelle will not rest after her surgery as she should. She holds me and tells me it will be OK, and it is sandpaper across my selfish guilt.

Find similar posts in: IVF