On Friday, I had a withdrawal procedure for my eggs. More of a bonus one than the one you pay for as I had 4 enlarged cysts (the things that grow on the end of your follicles and contain eggs) that were essentially blocking the rest of my follicles from growing. In the world of fertility, the more growing follicles the better, so these need to be removed.
As suspected, they didn’t contain any eggs but at least now (fingers crossed) the others can start producing. In the month or so since I received my diagnosis, we’ve been trying several different times to get all this fertility stuff in sync so I can freeze my eggs. Although the procedure Friday was far from pleasant, the real challenge has been living in a world of enhanced hormones.
This last round is really messing with me and I feel like I’m crying and depressed more than I’m not. Part of it may be knowing I’m less than two weeks from surgery. I feel ungrateful even saying this but I sometimes am just pissed. I don’t want to do this. I don’t. And I’m scared. But I don’t want those closest to me to know because A. There’s nothing they can do and B. They would just worry about me more. I can see myself starting to view myself as a victim and that pisses me off most of all.
If I’m like this before surgery, what am I going to be like after, when the real work begins? I keep going back and forth between single and double. I’m leaning toward single at the moment. I can’t undo it and I can always do it later, I guess.
Tomorrow I am meeting with one of my sister’s coworkers who is a breast cancer survivor and is dying to show off her tattooed nipple. And there’s a support group at the hospital I may attend Tuesday. I think it will help to listen to other people in a similar situation.
Sometimes, like today, I feel robbed. I want to feel happy; I want my honeymoon. I want to be stable and have just one day free of doctors appointments. Didn’t anyone up there read the memo that I was terrified of 35 when I didn’t even have cancer? Or what I hadn’t accomplished; of the more frequent aches and the increasing number of Saturday nights spent not dancing in clubs but falling asleep on the couch? Half of me thinks maybe this will wake me up, shake me. Half of me thinks I will be further resigned.