I wasn’t feeling hot after the transfer b/c my tummy was distended.  Little did I know that all of the procedures thus far were complete and total cake walk.

We drove up the Bay for T-day.  I had a ridiculously good time with mom, bro & my amazing friends.  Friday I was fine.  Saturday, I started fantasizing about death b/c the pain was debilitating.  Unbearable.   Puking up chicken curry, basmati rice and lime pickle just about burned my ears and nose.  My stomach was so incredibly distended.  I looked 6-9 months pregnant.  I fuck with you not.  I thought food poisoning for sure.  I took a pregnancy test — positive. I didn’t believe it.  I couldn’t sleep that night.  I rocked my body back and forth in pain.

Sunday the pain worsened.  I took another pregnancy test and it was positive and the line was darker.  More violent puking.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t walk.  I was doubled over in pain.  The ride back to Los Angeles was sheer hell.  MPS’ car smells like puke and bile.  My mother who wants grandchildren desperately said, “I don’t care anymore about grandkids.  I need my kids to be healthy.”  She was freaking out.  MPS was freaking out.

Today is 12 dpo (days past ovulation) or 7 dp5dt (days past  5 day embryo transfer).  I woke up at 4 am, screaming in pain.  I peed on 3 sticks.  All positive.  Then I started puking bile.  Straight up yellow bile.  I couldn’t breathe.  Asthma attacks galore.

MPS insisted I call Dr. S.  My appointment was at 10:30 am, doc wanted to see me.  He drained 2.5 liters of water from my ovary by threading a needle through my vagina and poking my ovary.  I was awake.  It wasn’t fun.  But this was easy peasy compared to the pain I was in.  I felt instant relief.  Dr. S was shocked by the liquid amount.  He said he hasn’t drained this much liquid from someone in a couple of years. Instantly my tummy shrunk and my breathing became easy.  My ovary was no longer pushing against my diaphragm.  This rarely happens (to non-egg donors), I’m just so darn lucky!  The fluid is caused by the HCG and may come back.  Oh Joy!

The drained fluid looked like fruit punch.  I expected it to be clear.  I may never be able to drink fruit punch again.

I’m waiting for the beta blood results.

Growing up we had chai every morning.  My mom would make it extra milky and sweet.  Whenever I was sick, she’d make me a spicy chai minus the milk or sugar with a dash of salt. It sounds gross, but I crave it when I don’t feel good.

I woke up with my belly in pain.  My belly is distended and my ovaries are still gi-normous.  I still can’t fit into my jeans.  My belly is hard and swollen, sucking in is not an optin.  I look like one of those Ehtopian kids, skinny with a big belly from malnutrition (okay may not quite that large).

I’m 29 years old and even now I want my mom when I’m sick.  I put my head on MPS’ lap and he stroked my hair.  I kept saying, “I want my mom,” — kind of like a child.  I’m counting down the hours until we leave for the Bay.  My mom makes me these rice balls with either dahl or potatoes and she feeds them to me by hand.  I love it.  I’m never going to be too old for my mom to take care of me.  It’s  privilege I have her.

When MPS and I first got married, he was still in grad school.  He had oodles of free time.   He would get up with me in the morning instead of sleeping in.  He’d make me chai while I got ready for work.  Then MPS would walk me to my  office, 1 mile from our apartment.  Then he would trek the mile back home.  He always said, “I don’t mind not sleeping in and walking back, I get to share my morning with you.  There’s nothing more precious.”

This morning he ignored his blackberry while it was blowing up.  He held me.  He then brought me a cup of chai (caffeine free).  He’s adorable.  He was so concerned about me — it broke my heart.  He wanted to take a sick day from work and be with me.  I know the poor dear is swamped and he’s a bit stressed, I insisted that he go to work.  The offer means EVERYTHING.

The past 2 nights, my friends came over.  They came over to take care of me.  They brought me dinner and put away the dishes while I adhered to the bed rest rules.   So much love.  Such good friends.

Full of gratitude.

The 2 embies on the right were transferred into my uterus yesterday.  The 3 embies on the left + 2 of the embies brothers and sisters (not in pic) were cryopreserved.  Insurance covered EVERYTHING, including cryopreservation.  The embryos were grade A/B.  Each clinic has their own grading system.  Mine were considered excellent.

Still on the fence about kids.  But the embies are adorable.

This morning I was angry.  And now I’m not so much.  I have only left my couch to pee.

But now two little embryos (embies) are here.  I’m glad MPS saved the pic, or picked it out of the trash after I threw it away.

I’m starting to grow fond of  them, the embies. I don’t want to even like them or want them.

I want to be this cold hearted, uncaring bitch and I FAIL even at that….

I was alone for the transfer in a maddening white room.  I was terrified.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to run.  I barely made it to the transfer — I was ready to bail this morning.

I drank a little over 3 liters of water and my bladder was barely full enough for the transfer even though I felt like exploding.  The bladder pushes against the uterus and this is important for some reason.  I just didn’t want to be there.  I fought back tears (not tears of hope waiting for a pregnancy, tears b/c I didn’t have the courage to get up and leave).  If my bladder wasn’t large enough, they would fill it up with a catheter.  I immediately said, “NO.”  I’ve been in too much physical pain already (and really, it hasn’t been worth it).  I silently hoped that my bladder would not fill up on it’s own and I would go home.

Two grade A/B embryos were transferred into my uterus.  Ass-hat showed me the pics of 2 embryos in my uterus on the ultrasound monitor.  I felt nothing for them.  He gave me a pic of the blastocycsts.  I threw it away.  Like I want that shit.  They’re just fucking cells.  And to be clear, I’m pro-choice.

I hope my period starts.  I’m done with this.  I need to start living my life.  I have to go in on 12/3 to do a blood test. Once the results come back negative, I will stop taking progesterone and my period will start.

I’m a strong woman.  Playing the waiting game for a negative test result sucks.  Afterwards, time to refocus on me, my spirit, my career, and my  general direction in life. I always want to be able to stand on my own 2 feet BECAUSE I will certainly NEVER need to depend on anyone to take care of me (emotionally, financially or otherwise).  FUCK KIDS.  This is my life.

For now, I can’t leave my bed/couch unless to pee.  Bored out of my mind…

Well, at least I don’t have fluid leaking into my abdomen requiring me to have a drainage procedure.  My ovaries are huge.  I’m uncomfortable.  I can barely fit into my clothes from the pressure of the ovaries.  Buttoning up my jeans has been traumatic.  Thankfully I don’t have to squeeze myself into a little black dress in the forseeable future. 

Ass-Hat made it very clear yesterday that we are not to have any sex at all.  He warned me that shit might explode.  I asked him, “how hard and fast is this no sex rule.”  He sighed.  Ass-hat said, “Perkytitty, please, no intercourse from now on.” So I don’t have children yet, but they’re already fucking up my sex life.

MPS was advised of doctor’s orders.  He conveniently forgot.  I think the pressure of the bigger than baseball ovaries is somehow pinching my clitoris in a good way [theory not based on medical findings, completely my own BS way of thinking].  So I was feeling amorous as soon as i woke up this morning.

Saturday mornings are meant to be simple and deliberate.  MPS wanted to put on a circus show for me.  He was ready to do acrobatic flying tricks.  I wanted to go back to old school — just a little penis action rubbing up against me.  Sometimes, nothing is more sensual.  He had already slipped out of his boxers.  I climbed on top.  We weren’t fully naked.  There was no time to bother with that.  This was a morning where foreplay (sight or touch) was unnecessary.  I was very much feeling the moment.  I felt his firmness melting away into my delicate folds.  This was going to be a fast and hard orgasm.  I was in complete control, his body pinned beneath mine.  I instructed him where to place his appendages and the exact amount of pressure to exert.  I only needed to mumble a few words to communicate my needs.

Sweet Release.  Followed by a pop.  I think I did something to my nether regions that isn’t good for IVF.

Was it worth it?  Do you really have to ask?  I’m disregarding doctor’s orders when it comes to sex for now.  I’m going to honor my cha-cha.  I can’t have sex AT ALL after Monday (embryo transfer), so this weekend maybe the last for knockin da’ boots.

Waking up feeling like shit is not a good thing.  Another day at home.  I was craving a luxurious bath this morning.  My master bath is hard not to adore  The marble gives it an old feel.   The bathtub is separate from the shower, the only way it should be.  It’s spacious enough to easily enjoy unusual positions.  I drew a lavender vanilla bubble bath at 8 am.  I wanted to be enveloped in warm fragrant bath water.  Plus, the bubbles make it so much fun.  This was a wonderful way to start the morning:  bath + smoke, the only thing missing was a cup of java.

I enjoyed several smokes in the bathtub.  I started thinking about the water dancer.  The water dancer was one of my very first vibrators.  It’s fantastic b/c I could use it in the shower/bath.  There’s something less intimidating about using a vibrator in a bathtub.  It’s almost as if I could pretend that I wasn’t making a concious decision to cum, something just accidentally tickled my coochie.  I remember the first time I used it, the orgasm took me by surprise.  I didn’t realize it could feel so intense.  The release was almost painful, in longing.  The water dancer died pretty quickly, I wore her out.  I should have used her solely in the shower/bath.  Sigh.  Well, it’s time for a new one.

MPS showered while I took a bath and smoked.  I wish he had joined me.  I was feeling frisky.  He’s not really into baths.  He enjoys them on the weekends when he knows bath = multiple orgasms.  He had to rush into the office this morning.  He was looking like a fuck-able bonafide hottie.  Fucking work.  Fucking crackberry.  Fucking bullshit.  What about my needs?

So the pic above is from my hotel in London.  It was the night before I left for Amsterdam.  One of my homegirls from Los Angeles was in London for business.  We hooked up for dinner and proceeded to get wasted.  We bar hopped all over London.  Luckily, I didn’t puke.  I rolled into my hotel in the wee hours of the morning.  MPS wasn’t there.  Work bullshit.  I started bombarding his crackberry with messages such as, “come home and fuck me now.”  When his ass wasn’t immediately home, I started taking naughty naked pics on digital camera and then forwarded them to his crackberry.  I think the one of me fingering the spicy taco did the trick.   Why the fuck did I have to work so hard to get some deserved dickens?  Uploading digitital camera pics and posing while fucked up….

And so the only action I’ll be seeing today is at 2:30 pm when Ass-hat probes my cha-cha with a trans-vaginal wand.  So much to look forward too…

is currently Fentanyl via IV.  Fentanyl administered by the anaesthesiologist was the best part of my morning.  I was in an instant state of bliss. 

23 fucking eggs retrieved, blah blah fucking blah.

Monday

I had a delightful ride to my doctor’s office.  Warm Cali sun on my skin.  Refreshing, slightly crisp breeze through my hair.  Perspiration mixed with sun block — this is Los Angles on a mid-November’s day.

19 juicy ripe eggs.

My belly feels so full, as if it would love to explode.

I took a trigger shot at 10:45 pm to release the eggs.

Tuesday

Woke up feeling like complete and utter crap.  Retrieval Day is tomorrow.  I had no desire to go into the office but I’m a responsible girl — cases to update and such. I fought puke through traffic.  I rushed into my building elevator, just to find myself standing near a co-worker.  I hoped that I wouldn’t spray vomit on his shoes.

In pain.  In many ways.  While I keep getting injections, no more hot-beef injections.  Well, there are other ways to cum.  He’s not allowed per doctor’s orders.  He’s got to keep his reserves up.  Poor him.  At least he’s skilled….

Tomorrow (Wednesday)

Valium + General Anasethsia = Egg Retrieval

So far I have 14 eggs cooking.  The injections have not stopped hurting.  They say it will, that shit BURNS.  Now I’m on 3 injections a day.  We had to  get lab-coat crazy in the bathroom this morning.  I had to mix white powder (not the fun stuff) with a vial of liquid. 

So this is where MPS and I are completely and totally different.  He likes to be prepared, ultra prepared.  In his ideal world, he would take out all of the drugs, syringes & directions.  He prefers to read everything first, hell a trial run if possible.  I don’t read shit.  I mean I skim.  Kind of sort of skim.  How hard can it be?  You mix powder + liquid and inject me in the belly.  Well I fucked up.  Medicine started squirting.  MPS was not pleased.  He lectured me.  I rebelled like a child and got snappy. 

But what I heart about him, is that we always end up either laughing or fucking after a disagreement.  At least my pussy serves me well sometimes.. just not for baby-making reasons.  Let’s just say I was late to work this morning.

Effect of the drugs: 

• shit burns like a mofo
• hornier — Don’t understand how that’s possible for me but I want to have a penis inside of me (specifically a penis) all the time.  But my pussy feels weird.  Almost uncomfortable, but yet I keep attempting it.  I cum and then I burn.  Why the damn burning from everything — injections and the dickens???  That’s not fair.  One pokey stick should never hurt me.
• I can’t eat — Never ever hungry anymore.  The tiny bit of fat that only I probably ever noticed on my belly is gone.  It’s hard to grab anything (skin/fat) before injecting.  Shit hurts.  I need to gain weight.
• The boobs are big and heavy.   I want my itty bitties back.  Don’t like this bra nonsense.