Slogging

Friday evening they told me to keep taking the same stim dosage and to come back -- for bloodwork only! -- on Monday morning. The nurse left me voicemail, so I didn't get to ask what my levels were.

Yes, I can simultaneously believe that

a) they should have started me off with more drugs, and

b) their keeping me on the initial dose that long, and not wanting to take a peek at what's going on, means that the bloodwork Friday indicated that my ovaries are DEAD.

So far side effects are mild. Too mild. After 4 days of 6 vials, my lower back feels "full," more so on the right than on the left, but no exterior bloating, no excessive mucous, no hi-estrogen glow of hope.

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My grandmother is miserable. Severely depressed. Only gets out of bed to poke at her dinner, then read for a couple of hours.

It's harder for me to talk to her than ever. I have to shout, and even then repeat. I can't tell if she's angry or disappointed, or sad even. The television blares, painfully loudly, through dinner. We both sit reading afterwards and I feel so far away from her.

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We've just about decided that Beaker won't come out. It suddenly seemed overwhemingly dumb to have have him and Miss T. get on a plane and stay at a hotel in a boring part of Manhattan in the depths of winter, for him to miss 3 or 4 days of work, for her to get dragged out of whatever routine she has -- all so that he can sign me out of the hospital, post-retrieval, for a cycle that probably won't work.

[So, he could come out for like a day, right? But Miss T. would have to come with him, and we both think that once she sees me she shouldn't have to get separated again, which means they'd have to stay until I can leave, 4 days after retrieval.]

Which means we have to find someone else who can sign me out. Not easy. I don't know which day it will be, and it's during business hours. Marina is working again, and my one high school friend still in the city is way too employed. Am considering calling Beaker's mother, or finding some kind of home-health-care-whatever that I can pay... but last time, the stretch between retrieval and the fertilization report was sheer hell, grogginess and tears, and it would be nice to have someone actually close to me there.

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If this were a dramedy, the "antic" of this episode would be headlined, "Ricky hits MySpace!" 'Nuff said? Imagine the potential: this man has walked through a glass wall in real life, after all. The fourth- or fifth-best blues harmonica player in New York (according to himself) rented a studio and hired some session musicians last week. I think there are friends who are going to help him edit and post the results. As long as I don't have to get involved...

... and he'd never ask, in any case. Ricky's life is a drumbeat of little taxi trips for him, for Marina, for going shopping, for bringing the car back (he can only keep it overnight if he has a very early morning call). My offering to help is generally ignored. Changes to routine just make it harder for him.

Today I was allowed to take Marina to work, but that was because Ricky had triple-booked his morning: Nanna had to go to church, and a starving musician friend had to go to a train station with equipment.

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The secondary comic theme would be me getting yelled at by suburban librarians. My cellphone rang! I parked in the staff parking lot, by mistake -- twice!

(What would I yell back at them about? Outlets. Fixing the wireless when it's broken. Parking, actually. And not making patrons ask for a key to use the restroom -- what the hell is up with that?)

Comments

[Jody]

Thanks for the update. Sounds like a too-long weekend of uncertainty to me. Maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised?

[BrooklynGirl]

Maybe this is weird, but...I'll sign you out. I'm familiar with the Brooklyn-Upper East Side trek and I'm more than happy to do it.

Shoot me an email if you're interested.

[Cecily]

Yeah, i was gonna offer too. I live in Philly, but I'd be happy to drive up for my mom's day out and sign you out if you needed it! Maybe you me and Brooklyn Girl can make a date of it. :)