I had my post op appt. Friday and it went pretty well. My dr. is confident that I will have significant pain relief from having another surgery and that there is a less than 1% chance of any bowel damage. Of course, he is still very concerned that I will be in menopause afterwards due to how much ovary he will have to remove to get all of the cyst out. He also said that even if I have enough ovarian tissue to produce eggs left, IVF is my only realistic option to conceive.
I woke up around 3:00 am this morning in SEVERE pain. Bad enough I considered going to the ER. After four motrin, two tylenol, and three hours it was back down to a tolerable level. But it meant I only got about four hours of sleep last night. Then today was my SIL first prenatal appt. I had to leave work early to get Tommy and my nephew from the drs office so that BIL could be with her for the appt. Talk about my own personal hell. The whole waiting area was filled with pregnant bellies and newborns. This is why I had to stop working Labor and Delivery. I'm just too hateful to do it anymore. I hate the way infertility has turned me into a bitter, spiteful, jealous person that I don't even recognize any more. And then, because we are going to dinner at my mother in laws tonight, SIL gave me a copy of the u/s picture to show them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! As if hearing everyone ask her all weekend if she was feeling okay and if she was having much morning sickness wasn't bad enough. Everyone around me is pregnant. And most days I can deal with it. But today I am really having a hard time.
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Donor embryos can work!!
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
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