Holy fuck. My Ovaries are behaving like spastic children with ADD

I have officially overstimulated my poor ovaries. The dreaded OHSS. Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome. I had a nagging feeling I would be susceptible to achieving this wondrous state due to my previous follie response back in '02 when I did 3 rounds of Clomid.*

(Back when I received the Rx from my [extremely reputable, UCLA faculty] OB/GYN whom in hindsight I believe unthinkingly participated in the brotherhood of misogynistic OB/GYNS [hyperbole much?] by prescribing this AWFUL infertility drug for me to take PRIOR to testing Dan in order to rule out any misbehaving sperm on his end. Male factor infertility. Are their egos SO fragile they project that every male couldn't bare that "burden" that their swimmers might be fucked up? I mean, what the fuck?! Jerking off into a cup is far easier than living with a raging moody bitch where the means to the end is doomed from the start. Dan would have gladly gone that route [what's more exciting than wanking {AKA Polishing the Pink Pope} off in a small room at a doctor's office staring at worn out porn?] had we more knowledge of the big picture. I think it should be mandatory protocol for the SA to be STEP #1 when a couple embarks on fertility treatments. Least invasive approach first. Doesn't that make sense? Ladies, never forget business is business. Doctors ARE running a business. Yes, we're called patients, but we're also called paying customers. Agenda: pharmaceutical companies in bed with doctors, perhaps?

If infertility has taught me one thing it is this: Doctors are NOT Gods. I have since rescinded the unwarranted Daddy Authority I had bestowed on them prior to my rude awakening.

They are very fallible.

And egotistical, arrogant, and successful business men/women - if you're seeing one of the good ones.

There's the rub.

Play God much? (Use that much writing device much?)

We hope so.

That's the point isn't it? That the very aforementioned "negative" qualities they possess are also the qualities they employ in helping us achieve PREGNANCY. Nevertheless, do not hesitate to ask questions, be your own advocate, and hold them accountable for the utmost in customer service and care. Squeaky wheel gets the grease. (Case in point, I JUST received a call from my RE here confirming I know to keep taking the Lupron and if I'm feeling too bloated and awful tomorrow to call/come in for an adjusted dose of Gonal-F. I am liking this Dr. Li!)

*So based on those wasted and trying 3 months, I knew I had solid follicular response.

(Dan is grossed out by that term. He'd rather me call them puppies. Fine. My puppies are kennel-yapping.) In the litter vein, I have oh, around 32 follies. You read that right. 32. While staring at the ultrasound monitor, I was fondly picturing the eggs inside those not-quite-fully-developed-follicles bouncing up and down in excitement adorably yelling over each other, "Pick me! I'm the one! Will you be dis herez baby mama?!" (Kinda like how I used to picture the Cheerio Os scrambling to be the ones to go first. I think some '70s advertising execs thought it'd be good salesmanship to animate those Os into darling little characters. [Or maybe not. I may have just made them into characters in my head. I can't recall. Remember, I have that pesky overactive imagination.] I got over my guilt about consuming the cutie pies by sparing them the sad and soggy drowning death-by-milk-puddle - achieving a proud record of never leaving a single O in the bowl.)

Off topic. Right.

Annyway. Chances are fairly good we'll stop this cycle after oocyte retrieval. Or at least I'm prepping myself for that outcome.

So, outcome #1 (preferred):
Keep going, get incredibly bloated as I grow my symmetrical grapefruits, retrieve eggs, pull decent sperm from Dan's fun-time-with-a-cup and inject viable eggs with viable sperm (ICSI), wait 5 days as my OHSS calms down and the zygotes evolve into blastocysts, then transfer said blasties and keep fingers crossed during the ever dreaded 2ww.

Outcome #2 (waaah-ish):
Same as above minus the transfer. They'll freeze the litter and we do another IVF as FET (frozen embryo transfer). Or I guess in our case it would be a FBT. Bad news: Lose our fresh chance and have to wait a month or so. Good news: We should have plenty of top quality little frozens to choose from.

Imagination running wild night time soap outcome: Either Dan or I kick it. We move on with our lives, but we can't go on without the other in some form or another. So we hire a surrogate uterus and have them bake the frozen embryo then write a bad screenplay about it. Then there's a bidding war for either Dan's or my genius and we sock the money away for the kid's formative years therapy fund b/c they'd be in serious need of therapy very early on by not only the above scenario, but by being the recipient of our lovely combined genetics.