And Finally, the Fun Update

We're pregnant!

Glad that's out of the way ;)

The truth is, we found out I was pregnant when I was admitted to the hospital back in October (for OHSS). In fact, we had an idea even before that, from the blood test in the E.R. two days before. My hcg was a 7. (Anything over a 5 is considered a pregnancy.) But nobody could know 100% that it wasn't just leftover in my system from the trigger/Ovidrel shot.. since that's just an injection of hcg. Still, my fertility specialist told the E.R. doc over the phone, "I don't think it's the shot. I think she's a little bit pregnant."

That phrasing made me giggle, I'll admit.

But two days later, when things got really bad and I had to be admitted, they did another blood draw.. and my hcg had gone up. I was preggo. Doc kept joking, "I just don't know with how many."

But we wouldn't find that out for a few weeks. And it was hard to celebrate or be excited in the way one who is trying to conceive always envisions. I had all these ideas on how to announce to my husband when we finally found out. Instead, I had to mutter it from a hospital bed with an IV in my arm. And neither one of us wanted to get too attached to the idea, given everything that was going on at the time.

And a couple days into my hospital stay, I started spotting. I freaked out. Of course I acted like I wasn't too concerned with the nurses and doctors. No idea why. Guess I didn't want to be the emotional/irrational patient.. since I know that, logically, spotting can be completely normal. But I would start to cry whenever I was alone the room. And it wasn't so much that I was 'attached' to the pregnancy, but I didn't want to have to go through it all again, and I didn't want to tell my husband that something had gone wrong.

Luckily, it subsided after just a little more than a day, and my doctor had no concerns whatsoever. "If this wasn't a relatively strong pregnancy, you wouldn't be having this extreme hyperstimulation."

And that's the part I couldn't tell you in the previous chapters, since we hadn't announced yet. If a woman gets hyperstimulation, and she ends up being pregnant, the symptoms and degree of it become much worse. The hormones released during early pregnancy actually prolong the condition. (Yay me!)

So, it was definitely a strange place to be in. "Yes, you're pregnant. But because of that, you're going to feel TERRIBLE for a few weeks, and take a few months to completely recover."

Two weeks after being discharged from the hospital, we had our first ultrasound. And as Brad and I just tried to take it all in, having no idea what this part was going to be like, the doc immediately says, "Oh yeah, there's two."

My husband's face had no reaction. Shock, I'm guessing. I laughed, but inside I was scared shitless. No, really. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I was terrified. I immediately knew my chances of a natural birth just went down greatly; a home birth was all but out of the question. Two things that I really, really wanted. Finances were going to be hit hard -- really hard. And I was completely overwhelmed with the idea of trying to feed, bathe, soothe, etc. two babies at once.

I'm not sure I'm any less panicked at this point, but I'm trying to just roll with it and accept it. I know that all new soon-to-be parents get a little anxious. I just feel like my anxiety is squared :P

But at the same time, I'm so excited. To see my husband as a father for the first time. To hear a giggle fit down the hallway. To hear someone call me "Mommy."

At this point, I want to send out a HUGE thanks to every person who donated, wished us well, prayed, or provided any level of support. It meant the world to us. And as it turned out, the first cycle of injections that we raised money for.. clearly worked ;)

So, fingers crossed and knock on wood... Our little wish has been answered. Twice. <3

And these are our video announcements:

Follistim, OHSS, and a Long Hospital Stay (Part Four)

My last entry finished with finally turning a corner -- no longer putting on pounds of fluid. I was eager and hoping to go home soon.

Doc came to see me on Sunday, and while I was hoping for a Monday discharge. Alas, he made no such promises.

I continued to improve, other than my decreasing patience for some of the nurses, laying in bed, and eating salads and broth. Man, I was getting irritable.. though the nurses kept saying how calm and nice I was for having been there so long. So.. okay. I was being bitchy by my standards, but probably not by theirs.

Doc came again on Monday. This time, with good news. "I think we're going to send you home tomorrow."

I think I heard angels sing, but I can't be sure.

So, the order was put in to remove my drain. As much as I wanted to leave, this part was freaking me out almost as much as when they put the damn thing in. Before removal, the nurses were instructed to take a little off the top o.O So, just as before, they drained a liter or two, right at my bedside.

It was towards dinner time (I remember, because a plate of food had just arrived for me), when the doctor arrived to remove it. Before I could even ask, she said, "This is probably going to hurt a little.. because it's basically a coil while it's inside, so it straightens out when I remove it. So you'll feel some tugging."

Yeah. I felt some tugging.. and some pulling.. and some sharp pains.. followed by one stabbing pain, and then what felt like a water balloon bursting. (Brad watched this whole thing. Again, I'm not sure how he's not scarred for life.) The doc quickly put on a compression bandage, and stated I was good to go. "It'll probably leak a little bit, but it should stop within a few hours."

LIE!

Within ten minutes, I was gushing out of the compression bandage. I quickly got up out of bed, as if it were my own.. I was concerned about getting the sheets wet. :P Standing up made for the weirdest moment of my life. It was like my water broke, or I was peeing myself for 20 minutes straight. Fluid was dripping down my legs, making an audible splash on the floor. My hospital gown was soaked through. I was too shocked to do anything. Scared to move. Disgusted by standing in a puddle of my own fluid.

Finally, two nurses came in to help.. if you can call it help. They handed me a towel to hold against the bandage, and then they both just stared at me looking dumbfounded. One chimed in, "Well, we'll put one of these absorbent sheets on the chair so you can eat your dinner."

Hello? I'm leaking like a broken hydrant and you want me to just sit down and eat.. in my wet gown? First I was pissed. Then I decided I was more hungry than pissed. So I sat down to eat.

Within seconds, the towel was soaked through, and fluid was flowing onto the chair, then dripping on the floor. I kept looking to Brad for help, as if he could just put his finger in the hole in my side and all would be well.

This turned into the longest night of my life. Every 20 minutes, I'd leak through a bandage. Which meant, I never got to sleep more than 10 minutes at a time. If I got up to use the restroom, I'd spring another leak. Each time, I'd have to call a nurse.. waiting on her as my gown got soaking wet again. She'd re-do the bandage.. each time trying to out MacGyver the leak. "Maybe if I use two of these, and this kind of tape.."

It never really got better.

By morning, we could make it about an hour if I stayed perfectly still. I kept wondering why they couldn't stitch the hole, or put some superglue on it. :P Regardless, they were sending me home.

Good thing too. They had come to take my last sample of blood during the night to run the final tests, but my PICC line had failed. (Only lasted 4 or 5 days. Seems pretty short term for such a medical procedure, but I digress). My body was so pissed it was rejecting medical devices.

A nurse came in to remove the PICC line. It also hurt. Luckily, nothing like the drain.. but an equally odd sensation. As if a large spaghetti noodle was being pulled out of your vein. Good times.

Lastly, they put a fresh bandage on my drain hole, hoping for the best, and we were on our way. Within 20 minutes though.. I sprung a leak. Yeah. I was leaking fluids all over my husband's car. Luckily, he had thought ahead and put a towel down and gave me an extra one for my side. At the end of the 1 hour ride, the towel I was holding and the outside of my pant leg were soaking. This was going to be fun.

As soon as we got home, I had him put a puppy training pad on the bed, and a garbage bag under the sheets (we have a mattress protector, but this called for reinforcements). We tried a normal bandage. Failed within 20 minutes.

Sadly, all that worked.. were Poise pads (yeah, the ones for urinary incontinence). So, that is how I would spend the next week. With huge, essentially maxi pads, taped to my side. I had never felt sexier :P

The upside is that they worked for a couple hours at a time, so Brad didn't have to help me change bandages at all hours of the night. I could finally sleep. And Bristow (our dog) loved it. She was all up in my personal space while I was on bed rest. And my mother was staying with us for a few days, to help let her out or grab me groceries in the middle of the day if I needed something.

Slowly, the leaking started to improve. Bandages were lasting longer and longer. It didn't make changing them any better. My dear husband changed every single bandage during my recovery. With how far to the side it was, it was nearly impossible for me to get medical tape all around it. And that medical tape soon became my nemesis.

It started making my skin raw. Putting on tape and peeling it back off every two hours will do that. It got to the point where we had to rub oil on the tape during each bandage change.. trying to massage it off my skin. Ugh. It was pretty brutal and time consuming.

And every single time Brad would pull the bandage off, I could feel the fluid start coming bubbling out. Strangest sensation of all time. I never could make myself look. I would just freak out and say, "I can feel it! Ewww! I can feel it again!" That is why my only job was to quickly cover the hole with a small bandage, while Brad did all the rest.

The days went on like this for awhile. It was a good 5-6 days before the hole finally closed up. If I see that doctor that told me it would take a day.. I'll slap that bi$@#.

As for my ovaries, they didn't go down at all. I've had several check-ups on them since leaving the hospital. At the first one, which was 2 weeks after I was discharged, the specialist was shocked. "They haven't gone down AT ALL."

And as of the last scan, in late November, they were still huge (though seemingly improved a little). But doc has promised, "I think you'll be back to normal by Christmas or so."

We're running out of time doc...

What's next for us? Right now, we're just going one day at a time.

I hope this series of blogs is helpful for anyone who is considering doing injections (and trying to understand the risks), or someone who is experiencing hyperstimulation and wants to know what to expect. But let me reiterate again. Most people do not have cases this severe. I was one of the literal 1% that this happens to. And yes, it sucked, and it gave me a lot to think about. But it also made me grateful for my amazing support system -- the friends and family that reached out, visited, or checked on me, and most especially, my husband. I owe him big time.