There was a moment last night when I was convinced that I had killed my baby. Sure that my mistake was going to be the reason this little life would not be making it into the world.
Angry at myself beyond belief.
And frustrated to the point of tears.
When you do IVF, the hormone replacements don’t end at transfer. Sure, you stop injecting yourself, but you still need to take a steady stream of progesterone until at least 10 weeks along in order to keep that pregnancy viable.
My progesterone comes in the form of Prometrium; these tiny pale yellow suppositories that I have to insert in my own cootchie twice a day.
I will admit that I have been less than happy about these magic little bullets. First of all; it just kind of skeeves me out to be administering medication to myself that way. Second of all; they create some serious leakage.
The kind of leakage that makes me think I wouldn’t be getting any even if I did have a man.
Because I would be too self conscious to let him anywhere near that mess.
I honestly think I would prefer another 10 weeks of shots, because at least shots aren’t quite so messy. But alas; the needles are out, and the suppositories are in.
Literally.
As I was bailing out of my hotel yesterday, I made the last minute decision to bag up the leftover groceries I still had. There wasn’t much there, and nothing I couldn’t get at home. I just couldn’t really see any reason to waste the food and figured it would all get eaten eventually.
When I got to the airport though, my bag was a few pounds overweight (keep in mind – I was gone for 2 weeks!) I tried to take a quick look at what I could relocate or lose (determined that I would not be paying an overweight bag fee) and the first thing my eyes went to was that bag of groceries. In that moment I couldn’t see any reason not to throw the food away. Yes, it was a waste, but I didn’t really need it. Everything in that bag was expendable.
Or so I thought.
I quickly tossed the groceries, threw my bag back on the scale, and was given my ticket. No harm, no foul. I was just out a few bucks worth of food.
It wasn’t until hours later (as I was in the air mid-way between Seattle and Alaska) that I had a horrifying flashback.
A flashback of the moment I had spied the Prometrium capsules in my hotel and had haphazardly tossed them into the same bag that was carrying all my food.
The bag which was now sitting in a trash can at the SEATAC airport.
And, I panicked. Mid air. When there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I totally panicked.
What kind of a person throws away a bottle of medication that isn't exactly cheap and that insurance doesn’t cover?
A bottle of medication that was meant to last the next month.
A bottle of medication that was necessary to keep my baby alive and growing.
Medication that I was theoretically supposed to take again in just a few short hours.
What kind of person does that?
To top things off, I couldn’t for the life of me think of any 24 hour pharmacies in Alaska. I’ve never had a need for something like that, and we aren’t exactly cutting edge when it comes to providing services around the clock.
I was already contemplating how I would show up sobbing at an emergency room begging for just one Progesterone hit.
Or breaking into a pharmacy; getting what I needed and paying the consequences later.
When I landed, it was just after 8 at night. It was all I could do to wait until I got off the plane before I called the afterhours number at my doctors office. I didn’t think I should really have that conversation on a plane full of people, but it killed me to wait even the extra few minutes.
The woman who answered the call line listened to my plight and then said “I’m sorry, but it says right here that the doctors won’t call in a prescription after hours.”
I almost killed her.
If we had been standing face to face, I probably would have.
Instead, I started crying. I tried to explain to her again that I had just completed IVF and that there was a baby inside of me that couldn’t wait until morning.
To which she said “IDF?”
I literally had to explain to this woman what IVF was. She had no clue. I get that this isn’t common knowledge in most circles, but how is it that the person answering the emergency calls at an OB/GYN office could be so clueless?
Finally, she agreed to page the on call doctor.
Only after I told her my baby could die though.
Until that point, I’m not sure she really understood the urgency of this situation.
Even after that point, I'm pretty sure she was convinced I was a crazy lady.
When the doctor called me 10 minutes later, he was amazing. He eased my fears and let me know he would get a prescription called in right away. He told me where to go and assured me I wasn’t a bad mother for letting this happen.
He then gave me his home phone number and told me to call him if I had any questions.
In the interim of waiting for him to call me back however; I had also called the emergency number for Seattle Reproductive Medicine. They called me back as I was on my way to the pharmacy. I assured them that everything was under control at that point though, and thanked them for returning my call.
When I arrived at the pharmacy however, there was an issue. First they told me they didn’t have the prescription. I called the doctor (on his home number) and he told me to have them check their voicemail.
I thanked him again and hung up; feeling weird for having called a doctor at home.
Sure enough, they had the call. They just hadn’t been looking in the right place.
I started to relax, only to hit another bump in the road. The pharmacist informed me that they only carried this medication in oral tablets, and that in order to get vaginal suppositories I would need to go to a specialty pharmacy.
A specialty pharmacy that was only open during regular business hours.
I panicked and called the doctor again. He assured me that this would do to get me through the evening, and that he would get another prescription called in for me in the morning.
I breathed a sigh of relief and relayed the message to the pharmacist.
It wasn’t until after I had hung up however that the pharmacist asked me if my doctor still wanted me to insert the medication vaginally, even though it was meant for oral consumption.
At this point all I could think was “How in the heck do I know?!?” I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was taking this medication vaginally to begin with if an oral option existed.
I mean, really? What is that about?
Sure that I couldn’t possibly call the good doctor at home again, I instead called back the on call doctor who had called me from Seattle Reproductive.
And discovered that she too had given me her home phone number.
It was a strange, strange night.
I explained the situation to her, and she told me she wanted me to take one vaginally and one orally. She said that I couldn’t overdose on progesterone, and she would rather me error on the side of caution.
Good. Fine. Great. I could do that.
I paid for my prescription and made my way home around 10 at night; hopeful that this little dalliance wouldn’t cause too many issues for my baby to be.
I started to take the medication as instructed, but it was as I was taking the pills out of the bottle that I realized the prescription I had been given was for 100mg tabs. I looked up my old prescription and sure enough; the suppositories had been 200mg.
Again, panic set in.
I picked up the phone to call the second doctor, and when she answered clearly out of a deep sleep, I froze.
This is what happens when you have doctor’s home numbers.
So what did I do? Well, I behaved as a 7th grader would; I hung up on her.
I don’t want to talk about it. I already feel bad enough. It was just a gut reaction though.
Last night, I prank called a doctor.
After turning off my phone (too afraid that the doctor might call back angry) I reasoned that I should just double up on the dose, and reminded myself that she had told me earlier that I couldn’t overdose on this stuff. Then I attempted to force myself to sleep, even though my guilt over making such a stupid mistake was eating away at me.
Guilt which had clearly turned me into a neurotic mess in the hours preceding.
Literally the only thing that calmed me down was the moment when I decided to take that picture out of my purse and put it on the wall in my bedroom. After staring at that little embie for a few minutes, I suddenly felt at peace again.
As if the world was lining up just fine, despite my best efforts to knock it off kilter.
This morning when I went to pick up the new prescription, I discovered that they had only given me half of the pills ordered (15 instead of the 30 that was clearly printed on the bottle). I realized this when I went straight from the pharmacy to the bathroom to insert my morning dose. When I returned to the counter and informed the pharmacist that I had been shorted, I told him “There are only 15 in the bottle. I mean, there are 14 now because I used one, but there were only 15 there originally.” I could tell from the look on his face that he was coming to the realization that I had just gone to the bathroom and inserted one of those little magic bullets deep inside of me, and for a moment I was embarrassed.
Wishing again that I was taking this medication any other way.
But the embarrassment washed over quickly and then I was just irritated at this kid. Irritated at the look on his face, but also irritated at the mistake that had been made.
Because really, what kind of a person makes a mistake like that with such an important medication?
ADSPACE
