I am ready.
We have packed and departed our quaint Airbnb, in hopes that I will feel well enough to do the 9 hour drive back to Missoula post-surgery. It’s a gamble, but one I am willing to take. Portland is fun, and I have had my fill for now.
We check in to the clinic. It is Saturday morning – it is eerily quiet, yet I find it calming. The nurse brings me to my room, points me to my gown and booties, and gets me going with an IV.
While I wait for the doctor to arrive, I peruse a copy of Genome magazine – odd but befitting reading.
A young man with a baby face appears in my room to explain the procedure. He asks if I have any questions. What I really want to know is how old he is and how many times he has done this before, but asking that would be entirely inappropriate. While we make small talk, I inquire about how many women are here on an average day, and do the math in my head. At least 100+ times a year, which seems to me to be ample practice. I have assuaged my concerns.
My main fear right now is how much the anesthesia drip is going to hurt. I remember it from last time as the single most painful part of the entire experience, and the thought of having it again has been looming in the back of my mind for weeks. “It will only burn for a few moments,” says the anesthetist, “and we will give you good happy drugs before that so you won’t feel much.”
The doctor says he will collect every last follicle, I notice a bit of burning, and then I am out. It truly seems like no time passes before I am waking up in my recovery room, and I am confused. Clearly we must be done, given I am in recovery, but since I have no feeling of time having passed, I am momentarily thrown off.
The nurse tells me they collected 29 eggs. (!!) A number of those will be immature, but 29 is a great start. They will call tomorrow with a fertilization report.
I get dressed, and with a check out procedure that is barely more than, “Take care, have a safe drive!” we are on the road.