courses of action. I could immediately begin taking Follistim, a medicine that stimulates the production of multiple eggs, and come in for careful daily monitoring since I would be considered high-risk because of the possibility of hyperstimulating my ovaries. Or I could increase the number of daily Lupron shots to two a day for a few days and then start Follistim. Or I could take a shot of hCG like the last time, go back home, and wait a few weeks to begin the process all over again.
I simply couldnât board the train back home defeated yet again. I also couldnât bear the thought of remaining in this holding pattern for another few days while I sat waiting too far away from Allen and the boys. I could not wait any longer. After some pleading on my part and much consideration on his, Dr. Rosenwaks agreed to pursue the first option: Immediately begin the Follistim and proceed with caution. That night I lined up all the needles and vials of Lupron, Follistim, and the diluent to mix it in. I read and reread the directions, mixed the medication precisely, and carefully injected the Lupron and then the Follistim into my sore thighs, bruised from months of Lupron injections. The medication burned as I injected it, but I didnât care. It felt so good to have forward momentum. Over the next week or two, Dr. Rosenwaksâs job was to achieve a balance betweengiving me enough Follistim to produce a considerable number of eggs (hopefully ten or more) without hyperstimulating me (associated with risks including nausea, difficulty breathing, and blood clotting, among others) and having to cancel the whole cycle. His sterling reputation is based on his expertise in these matters.
My last real study of genetics was in preparation for my sixth-grade science-fair project on Gregor Mendel. Despite my taking home first place, I was hardly an expert at age twelve, let alone now, at age thirty-two; but I understood that each fertilized egg had a 25 percent chance of having FA. Because the chance of any one being both healthy and an HLA match was merely 18.75 percent, the more eggs we tested, the greater the likelihood that we would beat these daunting odds. Although I hoped for twenty eggs, at this point I was so desperate that I would have settled for anything more than the one I could produce each month on my own.
The next day, Allen, Henry, and Jack finally arrived in New York City, where we spent a long weekend at the Helmsley Medical Tower Apartments for yet another $1,000. I waited for them in the lobby, and when I saw Allen pushing the double stroller through the large glass doors, I thought my heart would explode from excitement. Henry jumped out of his seat and ran into my arms. It had been six days since Iâd seen him, but the way he held on to me, you would have thought weâd been apart for years.
Like he usually did, Jack followed his big brotherâs lead and, though a little more slowly and clumsily, he also ran out of the stroller and grabbed on to me. Henry made room, allowing Jack space in my arms. Although brotherhood is often fraught with competition, Henry and Jackâs relationship seemed to escape that. Instead of viewing Jack as an adversary or worse, as an object of envy given his clean bill of health, Henry saw Jack as a best friend and, as such, someone to look out for. Their closeness was a source of joy for Allen and me.
After dropping off their bags and bundling up, we headed straight for Central Park. It was a crisp and sunny February day. Allen and I each grabbed a stroller handle, and we walked together to the carousel. The music was festive, the lights were bright, and the boys were happy. Henry climbed up onto the black panther, and we boosted Jack onto a white horse. The carousel began to spin. I was dizzy and happy. It felt great to be together again, absent the burden of fear and loneliness weighing me down in the preceding days.
From the hotel, I had easy access to the IVF
I simply couldnât board the train back home defeated yet again. I also couldnât bear the thought of remaining in this holding pattern for another few days while I sat waiting too far away from Allen and the boys. I could not wait any longer. After some pleading on my part and much consideration on his, Dr. Rosenwaks agreed to pursue the first option: Immediately begin the Follistim and proceed with caution. That night I lined up all the needles and vials of Lupron, Follistim, and the diluent to mix it in. I read and reread the directions, mixed the medication precisely, and carefully injected the Lupron and then the Follistim into my sore thighs, bruised from months of Lupron injections. The medication burned as I injected it, but I didnât care. It felt so good to have forward momentum. Over the next week or two, Dr. Rosenwaksâs job was to achieve a balance betweengiving me enough Follistim to produce a considerable number of eggs (hopefully ten or more) without hyperstimulating me (associated with risks including nausea, difficulty breathing, and blood clotting, among others) and having to cancel the whole cycle. His sterling reputation is based on his expertise in these matters.
My last real study of genetics was in preparation for my sixth-grade science-fair project on Gregor Mendel. Despite my taking home first place, I was hardly an expert at age twelve, let alone now, at age thirty-two; but I understood that each fertilized egg had a 25 percent chance of having FA. Because the chance of any one being both healthy and an HLA match was merely 18.75 percent, the more eggs we tested, the greater the likelihood that we would beat these daunting odds. Although I hoped for twenty eggs, at this point I was so desperate that I would have settled for anything more than the one I could produce each month on my own.
The next day, Allen, Henry, and Jack finally arrived in New York City, where we spent a long weekend at the Helmsley Medical Tower Apartments for yet another $1,000. I waited for them in the lobby, and when I saw Allen pushing the double stroller through the large glass doors, I thought my heart would explode from excitement. Henry jumped out of his seat and ran into my arms. It had been six days since Iâd seen him, but the way he held on to me, you would have thought weâd been apart for years.
Like he usually did, Jack followed his big brotherâs lead and, though a little more slowly and clumsily, he also ran out of the stroller and grabbed on to me. Henry made room, allowing Jack space in my arms. Although brotherhood is often fraught with competition, Henry and Jackâs relationship seemed to escape that. Instead of viewing Jack as an adversary or worse, as an object of envy given his clean bill of health, Henry saw Jack as a best friend and, as such, someone to look out for. Their closeness was a source of joy for Allen and me.
After dropping off their bags and bundling up, we headed straight for Central Park. It was a crisp and sunny February day. Allen and I each grabbed a stroller handle, and we walked together to the carousel. The music was festive, the lights were bright, and the boys were happy. Henry climbed up onto the black panther, and we boosted Jack onto a white horse. The carousel began to spin. I was dizzy and happy. It felt great to be together again, absent the burden of fear and loneliness weighing me down in the preceding days.
From the hotel, I had easy access to the IVF
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