28 July, 2016
The earliest they have ever called was 10:18. That time has come and passed.
One phrase keeps drifting through my mind. Chemical pregnancy. If the number is over 5, please let it be significantly over 5. Over 100 would be grand. I will not complain with a number over 100.
I have literally done nothing for the last thirty minutes. I have sat on the couch, glancing occasionally at my phone.
Hopefully the call comes soon.
26 July, 2016
I think I have decided.
After the blood work, I do not think I will do any updates on the result for a week or two. Here is why.
I am (personally) a firm believer in not announcing pregnancy until you are decently along (at least 12 or so weeks). If you do not believe in this idea, that's great. This is simply what I believe. My reasonings:
1. Miscarriages. If 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, if you have five pregnancies, chances are at least one of them will end in a miscarriage.
2. The people that announce their pregnancies earlier than other people seem to be pregnant way longer.
3. I think it is exciting, fun, and sacred to have that secret with your significant other. I loved how close I felt to hubby when I was pregnant the first time (for a whopping eight weeks) when we were the only two that knew. (Okay, we told my dad and baby sister. But they found out shortly before the miscarriage.)
Like I said, no judgement if you pee on a stick and immediately post that to social media. That is completely up to you.
Ironic that I am leading you through my extremely sexy story of getting pregnant, right? Here is what will happen (unless I am too overcome by grief or excitement). The beta blood test will be done on Thursday. If I have enough HCG in my blood that I am classified as pregnant, I will go in two days later for a second blood test. They want the number of HCG to grow (double). They may do blood test every two days for a while, depending on the numbers. Then they will do an ultrasound (pretty sure at this point I have had more ultrasounds than most women that have had two-three kids) and graduate me at nine weeks to an OB.
If the HCG test comes back negative, I go off the fun progesterone suppositories I have been taking and go back to birth control. We can do a frozen embryo transfer within a month.
I will update here 1-2 weeks after the beta test.
21 July, 2016
Two wiley widows?
Twice without water?
There is an entire world of infertility jargon out there. I'm talking all sorts of things such as AF, BFP, BFN, AH, DE, OTD, EC, ET, FET, the list goes on. I am not the biggest fan of weird jargon acronyms. I would much rather say that I received a positive pregnancy test instead of "OMG! BFP!!!!" (We shall also ignore that I am slightly anti-exclamation point. Ask my students. They know this well.)
The only one I connect with, perhaps because it and I are close friends, is the 2WW. The two week wait. This is the term used to describe the two weeks after ovulation (and hopefully fertilization, implantation, etc.) before you know you are pregnant. These two weeks contain a rollercoaster of emotions for me. Usually I do my best to get my mind off of all things pregnancy related. This works well in the middle of a school year. This epically fails during the summertime. I had an especially rough go of things the last three days when I was on house arrest (bed rest). I sat on the couch, worked on my matter unit for science, read, did homework (aced a midterm), played a little Zoo Tycoon 2 (so glad I just admitted this to you), crafted, and painted.
(Upon sending a text to hubby excitedly declaring, "I'm painting," he promptly called me within twenty-three seconds. "Uh, what are you doing right now?" "Painting." Yeah. In his mind, I was painting our upstairs hallway. We still need to lather on a final coat. Upon realizing I was not breathing in paint fumes, balancing precariously on a chair, and being OCD about painting in a straight line, he was okay. I painted a pencil box for my classroom. It is now blue and beautiful and I have no idea why I painted it in green, pink, and gray last year. Ugly.)
Today I resumed my normal life. I have spent much more of my waking time outside of my house than inside because that is what I do. We purchased an adorable animal alphabet print for a future nursery, for goodness sakes.
Every year we buy one thing for future baby. This is not something we plan to do. ("Let's see. Next week I have scheduled that we need to purchase something for our future offspring. As good parent organisms, we better make sure we fit that in.") I have amazingly soft blankets that I bought from a company I used to work for. I have a car seat cover purchased from the same company. We have an adorable duck we bought in Berlin a couple years ago. Last year we purchased future offspring the most adorable elephant (part of the elephant is made out of a thick corduroy). Now we have the animal print. I love it, but I am starting to get worried for myself.
I am worried that I am getting my hopes up this time. After the first IUI, I received the call, responded with a, "Thank you for calling, have a great evening," told the hubby, and resumed my life. After IUI number two, I was a grump. I decided to answer my phone at school and was not a very nice teacher after that. IUI number three was the worst. It happened the day before baby sister's graduation. I will admit I cried hard enough and long enough that my eyes were still red and puffy at her ceremony the next day.
I have stopped looking up potential due dates.
I have stopped debating over buying slightly larger clothes because, "If I get pregnant, I won't be able to wear this for a long time."
I have stopped planning my future as if life will get more uncomfortable followed by six weeks of maternity leave.
It helps me deal with things when I get that phone call or I wake up to blood or I receive a "not pregnant" on my test.
Am I getting my hopes up?
18 July, 2016
In the morning, I decided it would be good to get in a short workout because I knew that would be the last time in quite a while. During my workout, I received a call from the clinic. For a second, I panicked. Was I late? Had I forgotten what time they asked me to come in? Instead they asked me to come in slightly earlier.
I arrived at my clinic at 1:00 knowing that I would stay in the waiting room for half an hour. The reason for the early arrival was so that I would take the valium that was stashed away in my bag. I had several glasses of water prior to leaving my house for the appointment and throughout the experience, I definitely felt the consequence. They ask for a full bladder during embryo transfer to make everything easier to see.
Promptly at 1:30, we were ushered back into a room for the transfer. Just like clockwork, one of the adorable technicians greeted me by name which made my day. They asked that I wore loose, comfortable clothes (glad they did not ask for loose, uncomfortable clothes) and socks. I came prepared with some adorable socks adorned with buttons on the side, but when we entered the room, a present was waiting for me. I was honestly very touched at this gesture. (And everyone that entered the room remarked that these socks were amazing.)
Our doctor showed up and gave us all the stats. As of Saturday, we had 16 embryos growing. Today, only five have made it to a nice blastocyst level. Nine of them are okay and we will let them grow another day to see what they do. (The doctor said that probably only 2-4 extra would make it to freeze, making it a total of 6-8 frozen embryos.) She seemed very positive about what everything looked like and how the cycle had gone so far. She handed us a paper with pictures of our five beautiful embryos with the best one (the A+ embryo as the doc put it) big and bold on the paper. Baby's first picture? After verifying that we were going to transfer one embryo, our doctor went out to tell the lab and switched places with a nurse.
It seems as though this nurse's primary job was to see how hard she could press down on my bladder with an ultrasound wand. Holy moley. (Her real job was to show us where the catheter was being placed and to show us the transfer itself.) The doctor did take longer to come back into the room so we played "bursting bladder" longer than I wished.
The doctor came in and we got started! When she started putting all the fun metal pieces in place, I thought I was not going to make it. (Let's see if we can put pressure on her bladder from the inside and the outside! What fun!) I honestly asked her how long she thought it was going to take. The pain was minimal. It was definitely less painful than an IUI (and an IUI is just momentary poking and prodding). I warned the doctor that in the past, the nurses doing the IUIs had problems getting positioned in the correct spot and had to use an alternative catheter. (Apparently there is a slight bend in my cervix. You wanted to know that, didn't you?) It only took a minute to get the catheter in and then at the last minute, the embryo was sent for.
The embryologist once again ensured that we wanted to transfer one and he passed our (hopefully) future child off to the doctor. Obviously the embryo is too small to see, but they put a couple tiny bubbles around the embryo so that we could see where it was transferred and when the transfer took place.
(That my friends is what part of my reproductive system looks like. The black part on the right I believe is my extremely full bladder. Immediately to the left--the part that looks almost folded over--is my uterus. The bright spot would be where the embryo was placed.)
They paused the ultrasound screen when the transfer took place and pointed out where the embryo had been placed. (The embryologist took the catheter back to the lab to make sure the embryo had not decided to retreat back into the tube.) After taking everything back out of me, they cleaned up, helped me get comfortable on the exam bed, and left us alone.
Husband and I chatted. As I was squirming and pinching myself to get over the bladder situation, he was having a wonderful experience. We looked at the pictures of the embryos and the frozen image on the television screen. As we were enjoying our moment, a technician came in to debrief us.
Strict instructions: Not technically bedrest, but "home-rest." I am not to leave the house, particularly tomorrow. Wednesday I can do a bit more, but the first day of freedom is Thursday. I was instructed not to do laundry, dishes, any other household duties. (Ah man...all my favorite things!) On Thursday I can resume regular activities, but no heavy exercise, no lifting anything more than 20 pounds, etc. They even wrote a doctor's note for my strict professor to excuse me from my class tomorrow. (He has a weird absence policy.)
They turned on a recording of chirping birds after the transfer and instructed us that as soon as the recording was over, I was free to get up and use the bathroom!
Blood test is scheduled for July 28.
I'd never been uneasy about receiving a positive blood test before, until talking with a dear relative that has gone through IVF. She received a false positive beta blood test once. Yikes.
Now it is time to wait. And relax.
This weekend I'm heading off on a short road trip with one (or two) of my favorite people in the world to relax with my grandmother and two aunts.
Here's to a calm ten days.
16 July, 2016
Just after 4:00, I jumped at the the sound of my phone going off. Private number. I knew what that meant. With shaking hands, I answered and ran up the stairs so husband could hear. I frantically searched the bedroom in two seconds, looking for a writing utensil. Yellow highlighter. Perfect.
I was extremely nervous. Throughout the day, I would turn to husband with a look of despair and wail, "What if there are only (fill in the blank with a number less than five) left?"
He was supportive. He always is.
When the caller told me how many embryos I had, I could not hear her straight the first time. Maybe it was selective hearing. I asked her to repeat herself.
"You have sixteen that have made it to day 3."
Every single fertilized egg has made it. They are all growing. I was so happy I could have hung up and collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor. However, I knew that even more important information was coming. How big each one of them were.
"By day three, our clinic is looking to have them at least six cells. So here are their sizes:
One is six cells."
At this point, my heart flip-flopped as I realized that she could either be increasing in size or decreasing. Please don't decrease in size...
"One is seven cells."
Okay, so she increased in size. It could still be bad. What if she says the rest of them are small and worthless?
"Five are eight cells.
Four are nine cells.
Three are ten cells.
Two are twelve cells."
Holy goodness gracious. They all made it and they're all overachievers? As the nurse continued to talk, I made sure to find the sum of all the numbers, just to make sure it added up to sixteen.
The last things we talked about were Monday. Monday is implantation day! I'll head over to the clinic at 2:00 and the procedure will be at 2:30. I have to bring a couple drugs with me to take. We'll go over the final sizes with my doctor and cross our fingers that we chose the best one. I did ask if there was an approximate percentage of how many she thought might make it to day five. She said the numbers for that are all over the place (as I was expecting), but we could expect probably at least half.
And, one more time just because I am so happy (and to make it easier to read):
Now I can concentrate on my homework.
14 July, 2016
Yesterday 22 eggs were harvested.
21 eggs were mature.
Today 16 eggs were successfully fertilized. I'll receive a call on Saturday to see how many made it to day three. They will also schedule a time for me to go in on Monday for the embryo transfer. I don't know if I'll have the ten day five blasts like I wanted, but hopefully half of my sixteen remain.
13 July, 2016
I woke up at my normal 7:00 alarm. No need to hastily prepare the injections for the usual 7:30 drug time. I was able to relax. It is hard to relax when you have nothing to do, but over an hour to kill. I could not eat so I dilly-dallied my morning away.
I did choose the best outfit possible. On the bottom, comfy jogger pants with the most adorable (and comfortable) socks given to me by a dear friend.
Upon arriving at the clinic, my anesthesiologist came out to greet us and show us back to the room. The room was definitely more high tech with a large toolbox holding odds and ends. In the corner was a tray with pipettes. I changed into a hospital gown (I was allowed to keep my socks and bra on). The anesthesiologist gave me a numbing shot and then the IV. Husband claims that a tube for the IV filled quickly with blood and then quite a bit spilled out onto my arm. I love what blood thinners do.
When I woke up I heard voices. I could not keep my eyes open for a while. Once they did open permanently, my anesthesiologist was the only one left in the room. I recall asking her if I put my legs in the stirrups on my own accord or if the nurses had to do it. (Why that was important to me, I know not. For all those curious readers, I put them in the stirrups.) I also asked her if she knew the stats. She did not. I did not think she would tell me, but I thought it was worth a shot.
I believe she asked once if I was ready to head to the recovery room. I believe I declined once. After a few more minutes, she lowered the chair and helped me up. Together we hobbled through a back door and into a back hallway. I looked to the right and recall seeing a door with a window in it. Inside there were a few people with masks on. I think that is their lab. On the left were doors. I know that the doors lead into the different exam rooms.
We made it into the recovery room, a sheet was wrapped around my shoulders (to help hide my behind in the hospital gown) and I was helped into a reclining sofa. A hot pad was placed over my reproductive area and I was handed a cup of water.
Husband was taken into the recovery room after just a minute or two. I love that man. We chatted on and off and enjoyed each other's company. When my water ran out, he made a point to throw away the cup and grab a new one to fill. Gotta milk them after giving so much money.
A nurse came in to remove my IV (and clean up the mess on my arm from said IV). I like that nurse. She has helped with my dye ultrasound, water ultrasound, and at least two IUIs. The nurse gave us a sheet of instructions that included the next round of drugs to take. I asked several questions and she remarked that I was much more lucid than many other patients at that point. She did warn us that it might be a while before our doctor returned; she was visiting another patient. I changed and decided that the wait for the doctor might be longer than my bladder could wait. Of course as soon as I entered the bathroom, she turned the corner. (One thing I love about this clinic is that I am known by the staff now. Upon checking in, the receptionist called me by name to ask a question before I had signed in. As I headed down the hallway, an ultrasound technician called me by name and asked how I was feeling.)
Now for the big news. After poking and prodding, the doctor does not think I will be as high of a risk for OHSS as she originally thought. Phew. The real news? The numbers that I had been trying to estimate for over a month now? She retrieved 22 eggs. (Much lower than I expected.) No word on how many she thought were mature. I asked. We will receive our initial report tomorrow on how the eggs are doing. She did tell us that in her estimation, we can expect around 15 to fertilize. (That number will drop by day 5 when they make it to blastocysts.)
The first few hours after the procedure, I felt amazing. I physically felt better than I have in weeks. Now that the drugs from the IV have worn off, I have a nice cramping pain in my ovary area any time I move. I cannot stand up straight and I cannot stand up for long at all.
Throughout the process, I kept two of my biggest fans (a couple sisters) updated with picture texts. One of my darling sisters is finishing a tour in Europe right now with the caption, "I took this pic this morning for you. Because you are a winner." I love those two.
I now anxiously await the initial report tomorrow on how things are going.
12 July, 2016
Let me riddle you this: If you have a positive pregnancy test and your mid section is larger than normal, are you pregnant?
Answer: Not always.
This isn't the first time I have had a pregnancy test come back positive without actually being pregnant, but this morning I looked like I could have been several months into what I have been yearning for my entire life. Today I gained almost three pounds. Three pounds is quite a bit to gain in twelve hours. I have been chugging Gatorade and water and all that water weight has decided to stick around.
In 12 hours, I will be done with "harvest hour." The entire procedure will take around twenty minutes. I am excited to see how many eggs they will be able to retrieve and try not to think of what could happen to me after the procedure is complete.
I've actually made it to the egg retrieval. I cannot wait for tomorrow.
11 July, 2016
The other important information that was revealed? Drumroll, please...
I am at a high risk to develop ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS). When I have my blood drawn, they measure my estrodiol level. Whenever that number gets over 3000, there is a risk of OHSS. I was measuring just under 5000 today. Other causes for OHSS? Having a large number of follicles (check), having a low BMI (check), under 35 (check), PCOS (nope). I fit most of the qualifiers.
What are the funs symptoms that I might enjoy? Rapid weight gain (such as 5 pounds in a day or 10 pounds in three days), severe abdominal pain, severe and persisting nausea and vomiting, decreased urination, dark urine, shortness of breath, tight or enlarged abdomen, etc. (Many women that have OHSS look as though they are several months pregnant-not really fair.)
I will know less than a week after the egg retrieval if this will plague me. Some women receive it within hours of the procedure.
I am not terribly worried about this, but if I do receive OHSS, we will have to cancel the embryo transfer and instead do a frozen transfer in a month.
10 July, 2016
09 July, 2016
Drug stats lately:
My stomach strangely looks like there have been needles thrust into it. Thankfully, I only have little red dots where the needles have gone in. We switch sides everyday so depending on the day, either the right or left side has dots that are slightly more red than the alternate side. The injections are administered on my stomach, approximately 1-2 inches below or slightly to the side of my belly button.
My emotions were fun yesterday. Husband and I watched the USA women's olympic trials and I randomly started crying. No devastating back story about an athlete was being shown. The tears just decided to start pouring during a floor routine. (It wasn't even a breathtaking showstopper.) It was weird. I am normally an emotional person, but I can always peg what makes me cry.
Today I am going to get an entire week's worth of homework out of the way so that during egg retrieval (or harvest) week, I can be a little more lazy. To offset the unexciting nature of completing assignments about curriculum, I will also be dabbling in the arts by attempting to make an awesome painting. We'll see how it goes.
08 July, 2016
One of my favorite games they owned was Life. I always had the same habits while I played the game: 1. Get a college degree. 2. Get married. 3. Buy the coolest house I could afford. 4. Rake in as many kids as possible. Try to exceed car slots to require second car.
Number four was crucial. If I could have skipped the first three steps and gone straight to four, I probably would have. Big secret: Sometimes I cheated. I hardly ever cheated in games as a child, but I would cheat as often as possible in the game of Life. Not to get more money. Not to get a better career. I cheated by trying to change the number I received on the spinner to land on more baby squares. At the end of the game when the total was calculated, I was perfectly happy losing as long as I had a decent number of peg children. I considered myself the winner if I had the most kids.
I haven't played the board game of Life in years. Now I'm in the middle of the real deal. Numbers one and two on my list for success are checked off. Number three will come someday. I just need to land on the baby squares and start filling up my plastic car with peg babies.
I do not get offended if someone asks if I have children unless there is a follow-up question. I'm sure that I have had a few questions of those types, but I usually put them out of my mind. Two of the worst stories remain. One is kept private because it happened at school with one of my student's moms. The other one is your regular run of the mill insensitivity story.
I was visiting a lady in my neighborhood with another woman. Small talk ensued. The kid question came up. Nope. No kids.
"Oh, you just don't want them yet?" Punch to the gut. I'd just had my first miscarriage. I was still bleeding from my first miscarriage. I always think of many answers to the dimwitted questions. I consistently answer with the one that gets me in the least amount of trouble.
No matter how long or short someone has been married (or in a relationship), never follow the kid question with anything else.
You don't know their story.
Yesterday we talked to our Endocrinologist. We asked her several questions such as:
Q: Because we are using frozen sperm (that we banked back before radiation for cancer treatment), do we need a backup?
A: Nope. The frozen sample is just fine.
Q: If we move across the country eventually, would we be able to have our embryos shipped to another clinic?
A: Definitely. Some people keep coming back to Utah to have the transfer, but we can definitely move embryos across country. (Overseas is a little more complicated though.) Some people get nervous because of the minuscule possibility that there will be a fault in the transfer and the embryos will be ruined, but she has never heard of that happening.
Q: What is the shelf life of frozen embryos?
A: Just about as long as we would want to have them frozen.
Q: If this IVF cycle fails, how soon could we begin again?
A: As soon as my period starts, we can begin another round.
Q: Should we try one or two embryos?
A: This one is a little more complicated. I do not want to be the next octamom and transplant twelve embryos. (Shortly before my mother passed away, I asked her if she would have rather had all eight of her kids at the same time instead of over a span of 15 years. I believe she rolled her eyes at me. Granted, this was when verbal communication was getting hard for her to do.) Our endocrinologist prefers to only transfer one. She said she will let couples do two if they are set on that number, but she would much rather transfer one. Here are our odds: 60% chance of becoming pregnant with one embryo transferred. 2% chance of having twins. 70% chance of becoming pregnant with two embryos transferred. 50% chance of having twins.
That was the end of our conversation. She did chat with me for a few minutes about our trip to Europe and how awesome it was. She really is a great doctor.
After the phone call, I had a slight meltdown (husband would claim it was more than slight) about the 60% she gave us. If one of my students had a 60%, they would fail. 60% sounds like basically 50/50 to me. I do not like those odds. I do not think we will make a final decision about that until we get closer to transfer day.
Today I had an ultrasound. Every follicle was measured on both sides (at least all that they could see). Our largest follicle is 19 mm. That is pretty big. The average woman ovulates when her follicle reaches 18 mm. I also have four follicles at 14 mm. I will do an hcg shot to trigger ovulation when at least 3 follicles are over 18 mm. The original estimated date for the "harvest" was this upcoming Thursday, but our nurse today thought it may happen as soon as Tuesday.
She measured 22 follicles today, most of them growing at a pretty steady rate. She said we looked great. I go back in on Sunday for more blood work and another ultrasound to see how close we are. If it is decided that they are not quite ready by Sunday, I will go in daily until it is time.
Because I do have a follicle over 18 mm, I added another shot to my daily routine. I now get to take Ganirelix (pictured below). Ganirelix is a "follicle glue." It prevents me from ovulating until I take a trigger shot. I am used to the daily fun of Gonal-f and Menopur, but Ganirelix is different. As soon as the needle hit my stomach, I felt an uncomfortable stinging sensation. (As opposed to a comfortable one?) It stung for a few hours and it has made my stomach slightly more tender, but not too bad.
I do feel slight discomfort in my uterine area. Something about growing 22 follicles that are around 14 mm. That's huge.
06 July, 2016
05 July, 2016
My levels are higher than they want right now. I get to reduce my Gonal-f level from 225 to 175. It was a little funky at first. The nurse thought I was taking a different level of drugs than I am so they had to adjust the amount they now want me to take.
I go in again on Friday for blood work and an ultrasound so that I can look at the growing follicles and get excited!
03 July, 2016
Yeah, since each box only contains a dose of 550, I only need two of those syringes, but I am hoping I can just use the rest for the heparin I get to start administering soon. Gonal-f was by far the most expensive drug, costing a third of the entire drug bill.
I needed three main objects today: the fluid, the powder, and a syringe. The fluid is already in a syringe that I easily stuck through the rubber stopper at the top of the powder container. Upon injecting the fluid, the powder dissolved almost immediately. (Dissolved is a science word I get to teach my kids in my matter unit. I probably should not use my specific example with needles when I teach them next year.)
After the fluid was ready to go, I stuck in one of the smaller syringes and withdrew 225 IU. Because it contains 550 IU, I use the same bottle for two days in a row. I have to be careful with the Gonal-f because the same needle that goes through the rubber also goes through my skin. Because it goes through the rubber, the needle is slightly dulled and husband remarked later that the Gonal-f took a little more pressure to insert into my belly. (I also heard from a nurse that sometimes the needle gets bent so you have to work with that as you inject yourself.)
Because I had heard from one of my nurses that the Gonal-f stings a little, she instructed me to pinch my stomach as hard as I could to get my mind off the pain of the needle. When injection time arrived, I could not get a good grip on my belly. Instead of grabbing a good chunk of fat, I pinched the surrounding area with my fingernails instead. It worked. I hardly felt the needle go in.
The other injection I will do in conjunction with the Gonal-f is Menopur. Menopur stimulates the ovaries to produce eggs. For Menopur injections, I need my syringe (no needle attached), needle, plastic screw cap, powder bottle, and liquid bottle. The Menopur is nice because I do not have to stick the injection needle into anything other than my flesh.
The order of events for Menopur is extremely similar to Gonal-f. I first screwed the screw top onto the syringe and then stabbed it into the fluid bottle. After I pulled up 1 ml of liquid, I withdrew and inserted it into the powder bottle. Once everything was dissolved, I pull everything up with the syringe again. Then I twist off the screw top lid and replace it with the needle. I get to flick the syringe with the needle pointed up until all the air bubbles have risen to the top just like they do in medical shows, so you know I am legit.
Upon doing both injections, husband said that the first one was harder to get in, but the second concoction almost felt thicker because it took longer to inject.
We did the injections immediately before going to church and half an hour into the first meeting, I realized with a jolt that I had forgotten to refrigerate the Gonal-f. Yikes. We rushed home to save the rest of the medicine.
02 July, 2016
Tomorrow, I think I will start to believe myself when I think, "It's really starting now!" as I pinch the injection sight hard enough to diminish the stinging of the needle my husband stabs me with.
And now, for your viewing delight, here is what IVF looks like. Husband sent me this link a few days ago. It is a pretty cool depiction of what most "normal" couples go through and then what we get to go through.
01 July, 2016
They drew blood and just called with the results. They said that everything looks great so I get to start the drugs in two days. I go in for more blood work on Monday to make sure the injections are doing what they should be doing. Also today, they had weird fuzzy covers on the stirrups. We were very entertained when we saw them pulled out.