The 100mg of Clomid didn’t work. I got my daily little “O”s on the ovulation kits (which I have decided to stop using due to the daily disappointment), and I had a blood test for confirmation (also, please note the lack of post about said blood test trauma, because now I am mighty).
This is a sad thing, and I am disappointed. This disappointment manifests itself in different ways, and sometimes takes me by surprise. Last weekend I was sat in a local coffee shop next to woman with a young baby, and despite my being absolutely fine around the babies of people I know, I found this very difficult to the point of tears.
I don’t think I was being bitter – I don’t want to be a person who can’t be happy for other’s success. It just hurt there and then for some reason. (As an aside I visited friends yesterday who just had beautiful twin girls, and I couldn’t be happier or more excited for them!)
My beautiful friends with their brand new baby girls. Congratulations guys!
I spent the rest of last week unsure about the next steps – is there something else they can do before IVF?…Will I be strong enough to be able to go through IVF if not?…
Then yesterday we saw our consultant again. He was lovely, and disappointed that the Clomid still wasn’t working. He has agreed to increase my Clomid dose once more to 150mg, and now we have to wait and see if that brings on ovulation. But we have just one shot at this before I’m to stop taking the Clomid and move on to the next step, which he laid out for us:
“Have you heard of laparoscopy?” he asked.
“No Mr Consultant, what is that?” I replied.
“It’s when they remove your lap” clarified John.
“No, that’d be a lapectomy” corrected the Consultant.
“Ah, of course” said John.
The Consultant then went on to casually explain that a laparoscopy is when they put you under a general anaesthetic and insert a camera into a hole they cut in your belly button. The aim is to take an up-close look at your internal organs to check that the fallopian tubes aren’t blocked with rubble and fluff, and to check for endometriosis (“a common condition in which small pieces of the womb lining (the endometrium) are found outside the womb. This could be in the fallopian tubes, ovaries, bladder, bowel, vagina or rectum”)
And then, whilst they’re there, they might just burn a few holes in my ovaries.
That is actually what he said.
The rationale behind this is that it can make the ovaries more sensitive to Clomid. But to me, that just sounds outright painful.
Although perhaps not as painful as this?
So yeah, I’m rather scared about this surgery. Our Consultant explained that I’d be a day case, so wouldn’t need an overnight stay in hospital. And there is a 12-week waiting list so I’m going on it now, with a view to cancelling if the 150mg of Clomid works.
Dear God, please let it work.
The other fun feature is the CO2 they blow into your abdomen during surgery to make space so the surgeon can see what they’re doing. This gas is used because it is re-absorbed by the body. But this doesn’t happen all at once, and you may spend several days with excess gas pressing on your diaphragm and associated nerves, causing pain in your abdomen and shoulders (!). I know friends who have had laparoscopies, and they reassure me that it is painful afterwards, with limited movement, but that you recover in a few days.
However, as John points out, this is also good news – they are taking us seriously and are moving our treatment along, without having to spend months on a drug that is perhaps doing little to improve the situation. And I can’t help but be grateful that we live in a country where this sort of treatment is free (at least for now). But this doesn’t stop me from being scared.
I’m scared of the anaesthetic
I’m scared of the post-operative pain
I’m scared of what they might find
Dear God, please let the drugs work…