Where can i buy furosemide 40 mg uk : Where to buy furosemide tablets http://toosexyforcancer.com Tue, 30 Jun 2015 02:12:58 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=5.3 Chemotherapy 101 http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=146 http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=146#comments Tue, 30 Jun 2015 02:02:07 +0000 http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=146 When my oncologist told me that I would need eight chemo treatments I was actually kind of relieved. It seemed like most other Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patients that I had talked to needed at least twelve treatments, so I felt like I was getting off pretty easy. I didn’t know what to expect from chemotherapy. I […]

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When my oncologist told me that I would need eight chemo treatments I was actually kind of relieved. It seemed like most other Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patients that I had talked to needed at least twelve treatments, so I felt like I was getting off pretty easy. I didn’t know what to expect from chemotherapy. I had heard that it usually made people tired and nauseous and lose all their hair, but I didn’t know much more than that. For some reason I had it in my head that chemotherapy involved me laying in a machine for a few hours, when in actuality, I got to sit in a comfy recliner and watch multiple episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and various Paulie Shore movies.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with the internet, but at this moment in my life I was very much in love with the internet. I had searched #hodgkinslymphoma on Instagram and was amazed by how many other people from around the world I had discovered that were going through what I was going through. Allison was one of those people. She had finished her treatment only a few months before my initial diagnosis. She lived in California and happily answered all my annoying questions. She was the one that explained to me exactly how chemotherapy worked and that I would be sitting in a chair for several hours, most likely bored out of my mind. I was happy to learn that I didn’t have lay under some weird machine from outer space (I guess I somehow confused chemo with radiation, something I would find out six months later.)

My mother insisted on joining me for my first buy furosemide 20 mg online. I figured it was probably a good idea to have some company while I was there. I’m sure most cancer patients would be incredibly nervous for their first day of chemotherapy, but since my chances of running into a cute boy at the oncology office were slim, I wasn’t nervous at all. My mom and I arrived at the ugly mauve colored office on a Wednesday morning around 10 o’clock. Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long before we were whisked off into the back room to get my weight and blood counts checked. Great, time to get my finger pricked…

When I was younger I hated going to the doctor’s office. I absolutely hated getting shots. I hated them so much that in a fit of rage I accidentally kicked a pregnant nurse in her stomach (and yes, I still believe it was her fault.) But what I hated even more than getting shots was getting my finger pricked. I would stare at my finger intently while the nurse prepared her instruments. I still remember how it felt when she would graze my finger ever so slightly with the finger pricker (I’m not sure what that device is actually called, but I know you all know exactly what I’m talking about.) I would wince and feel my stomach drop as I prepared myself for the impending doom. Then, with one little click of a button what felt like 1,000 little knives went into my skin. As soon as it was over I finally remembered to breathe again and let out a huge sigh of relief.

It wasn’t until I was older that a nurse gave me some great advice on how to relax before getting a shot. “Focus on an object in the room that is in the opposite direction of where I’m standing” she said. “Focus on it and just breathe, don’t think about anything else” And just like that, I got over my fear of shots, a skill that proved to be very useful as I was about to turn into a human pin cushion during my cancer treatment.

Mary, the nurse that wore shirts three sizes too small for her so you could see her enormous stomach hang out, came to collect me from the weighing room and brought me to the chemo chairs. She said I could sit anywhere I wanted. There were two recliners in each room. I was hoping for some privacy but it was a full house that day. I found an open recliner and quickly settled in. My mom pulled up a chair alongside of me.

Mary introduced me Kim who was in the recliner next to me. While Mary was collecting all the chemo drugs that were about to be injected into me, my mother and I got to know Kim a little better. She was receiving treatment for stage one breast cancer. She said she had a tumor in her breast that was about the size of an eraser on a pencil. She handed me a mint Lifesaver and told me to eat it before Mary flushed my port. Apparently there could potentially be a metallic flavor in my mouth when that happened. Kim was nice enough, though as someone receiving their first chemo treatment she wasn’t exactly the best person to be sitting next to. She was very negative and down about her situation, complaining mostly about how she lost her long and beautiful hair.

Mary returned back a few moments later rolling a machine behind her which I soon found out is what would be administering my chemotherapy. I decided to name the machine Ricardo. He would be my hot Spanish boyfriend that kept me company during my treatment. Mary explained to me all the different bags she would be hooking up to Ricardo and in what order I would be receiving them. For my treatment I would be receiving what they call “ABVD”. Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine, and Dacarbazine, with two bags of saline before the A and after the D. This was considered a relatively mild chemotherapy regimen, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She took a giant cotton swab and rubbed a strange yellow dye over my skin where my port was. Then she looked at me and said “This might hurt” I looked at a painting that was hanging on the wall behind her. I remembered what the nurse from my childhood had told me and sat there concentrating on my breathing. I felt the needle stab into my skin and penetrate my port. It hurt, but it wasn’t terrible. I looked down to see a long tube connected to me and watched as the saline entered my body.

Only five more bags to go…

Ricardo let out a loud and melodic tune when the first bag was empty. He continued to cry out until that friendly white pot belly came waddling back into the room to hook up a new bag. Adriamycin, known to many as the “Red Devil” came after my saline bag. It was quite literally red and this was the drug that many people get nauseous from. I was warned not to be alarmed if made my pee a little pink, I was however not warned that it would also make my pee smell completely awful.

As time went on, I started to get very hungry during my chemo. My friend Nick had planned on visiting me that day so I texted him and asked him if he could bring my mom and me some food. My mom kept saying she wasn’t hungry, but I knew she was. I pulled up the menu online for a deli that was down the street where a friend of mine worked. Nick entered thirty minutes later carrying a brown bag which I immediately snatched out of his hands. I opened the bag and to my delight I found hearts drawn on all the plastic lids of my food. A smile stretched across my face and I knew I would be just fine.

By my own accord, I was on a very strict diet. I had been reading a lot about cancer and everything I had read mentioned diet. I thought it was odd that my oncologist said absolutely nothing about changing what I ate. I did however nickname him the “Fat Irish Potato” so clearly he knew nothing about what a diet was. I started reading about the Gerson Therapy, an alternative all natural cancer treatment, and tried to follow their recommendations as closely as I could (minus the coffee enemas). I cut out sugar, sodium, dairy, and only ate meat once a week. The therapy explained how eating the right foods could break down toxins and help the body heal. The more I read, the more it made sense. Since cancer thrives in acidic environments I needed to start eating more alkaline foods and cut out the acidic ones. I lost 15lbs in the first month on my diet. I instantly felt better. I no longer had that gross bloated feeling that I had always felt before. I had more energy at work and the gym and wasn’t constantly yawning anymore, a trait I was notorious for. It was the best I had ever remembered feeling. So why weren’t more people paying attention to The Gerson Therapy?

Since I was on this diet, it was hard to order something off the deli menu. I decided to order sweet potatoes, a terrible mistake that I would soon discover. Mary warned me not to eat too much while I was receiving chemo and to stay away from foods I really loved because chemo could change my taste buds and foods that I used to love could wind up making me feel sick. I disregarded the fat woman’s advice and dove face first into the aluminum container of sweet potatoes. Over a year later, I still can no longer eat sweet potatoes. Thinking and writing about sweet potatoes at this very moment is making me nauseous, but I will do it, for you.

Before I knew it, my five hours was up. Nick was long gone and my mother was still sitting quietly next to me. Mary heard Ricardo whining again and came back in to detach him from me. Until we meet again my sweet dear Ricardo…

I flew out of my chair and started kicking my legs about in a fashion similar to Elaine Beniz. My mom giggled while she collected all our belongings. Mary advised me to take extra strength Tylenol every four hours for the next 24 hours because the Bleomycin was notorious for causing fever and chills and the last thing they wanted was for me to wind up sick in the hospital.

When I arrived home I immediately went to bed, even though I wasn’t at all tired. I set my alarm to go off every four hours. And although my alarm nearly gave me a heart attack every time it went off, I assumed it was well worth it to ensure my safety. The next day I woke up feeling completely fine. I relaxed at home for most of the day and went into work later that night. I was the cancer patient, but I was still running circles around my coworkers. I was glad that the chemo didn’t seem to affect me at all.

Not yet, anyway…

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Welcome, You’ve Got Cancer! http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=101 http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=101#comments Mon, 28 Apr 2014 03:28:10 +0000 http://toosexyforcancer.com/?p=101 I remember feeling the left side of my neck one day and thinking “Well, those are new” I had three small bumps under my skin that were all relatively close to each other. I assumed they were my lymph nodes but thought it was strange that they were swollen since I wasn’t sick. I had […]

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I remember feeling the left side of my neck one day and thinking “Well, those are new” I had three small bumps under my skin that were all relatively close to each other. I assumed they were my lymph nodes but thought it was strange that they were swollen since I wasn’t sick. I had pointed the bumps out to Nick, the guy I was seeing at the time, and he strongly encouraged me to get them looked at. His mother had died of lung cancer so he was very adamant about me going to see my doctor right away.

I played phone tag with my doctor for a few days but eventually got an appointment that was right after my birthday in mid November. When I arrived in her office, my doctor felt my neck and said the bumps weren’t large enough for her to be immediately concerned. However, she wanted to make sure they were nothing to worry about so she ordered me to get an ultrasound as soon as possible.

The ultrasound was very easy. I laid on my side trying not to laugh while the radiology technician rubbed warm lube all over my neck and went to work. I had this particular technician once before when I had to have an ultrasound of my abdomen for pain I was experiencing a year earlier. At the end of the ultrasound she kept asking me if I had been sick recently. I told her I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a cold and that I was very healthy. She then asked if I had any dental work done. I told her I had just been to the dentist for a cleaning and that my teeth were fine. Her tone of voice was much different than the other time I had been there. She said she needed to show the results to the radiologist and would be right back. This was something she hadn’t done the last time I was there and it made me a little suspicious. There was also something about her face and the way she was talking just didn’t sit right with me. After talking to the radiologist she came back in the room and said my lymph nodes were slightly larger than what was considered normal swelling and that I would need to contact a surgeon and get a biopsy.

I met with a surgeon a few days after my ultrasound. He explained to me that doing a biopsy on lymph nodes was somewhat difficult and that instead of a normal needle biopsy, he would have to actually go in and cut out one of the lymph nodes to analyze it. He scheduled my surgery for January 2nd, an excellent way to ring in the New Year!

I demolished a liter of white wine, a glass of champagne, and a bottle of hard cider in a matter of 3 hours on New Year’s Eve. Clearly I was nervous about the biopsy. However, it was one of the best New Year’s I’ve ever had. I spent the night with two of my girl friends. We painted each other’s nails, sang along to Miley Cyrus and ate lots of spaghetti, which several drunk text messages later, I threw up in the sink. I am not the type of person that gets nervous very often. In fact the only times in my life I’ve ever felt nervous was when a boy was involved. My father had let it slip that my mom was having awful dreams about me and if there’s one thing I have learned in life, it is that my mother’s psychic intuitions are never wrong. If she had a bad feeling about something, then something bad was about to happen. As much as I heard people say “You’ll be fine” it never put my mind at ease.

The night before my biopsy I went to bed fairly early. I remember waking up at 2am and immediately grabbing my phone to search Google for what swollen lymph nodes might indicate. The first article I read was about Hodgkin’s Disease. I blurted out loud to myself “My God, I bet that’s what I have” The morning of my surgery I was not feeling nervous at all. At this point I didn’t know if anything was actually wrong with me so I knew there was no point in worrying myself sick about it. I was confident that if I was about to get terrible news that I would be able to handle it. I knew my strength and knew that I would be able to handle whatever came my way.

My mother came with me that morning to the hospital. I told her to go get some breakfast since it was 8am and she hadn’t eaten yet, but she insisted on waiting for me the whole time. The nurse that was going to be assisting the surgeon escorted me down the hall towards the room where they would be performing my biopsy. It was finally time to find out what the hell was going on with me!

The surgeon only numbed the area he was working on so I was still wide awake and could feel everything that was going on. I felt a lot of pressure on my neck and could see blood all over the surgeon’s gloves, which to be completely honest, scared the shit out of me. The room was totally silent so not only could I feel him tugging and scraping inside my neck, but I could hear it as well. Not to mention the burning skin smell! The nurse held my hand the whole time and as soon as I started crying hysterically she wiped away my tears for me. The surgeon kept apologizing that it was taking so long and promised he was almost done. The lymph node he was removing was a lot deeper than anticipated and he admitted that he was having a tough time removing it. When he was done, my surgeon looked at me and said “So do you have any interest in seeing this thing?” I responded with a big “YES PLEASE!” He held up a little jar full of liquid that had a chunk of tissue floating in it. It was much bigger than I had expected. He pointed out the big lymph node that I could feel from the surface of my neck. There were also two smaller lymph nodes on the mass he had taken out.

They walked me back out to my mother. The surgeon explained to her that it was a bit more complicated removing the lymph node than expected but that I did very well and would have the results soon. Then he said “You’ll be coming with her on Wednesday when we have the results, right?”

When we got into the car my mother looked at me and said “What the hell did he mean by that?”

A few days later I met with my surgeon to get my pathology results. I was working 9-5 that day and decided I would leave work for my doctor’s appointment and then go back after I got my results. My mother met me at the surgeon’s office, she actually got there earlier than me. I was totally impressed, the woman is never early for anything. We were only sitting there for a short while when one of the office employees came out to collect us and bring us to one of the examination rooms. The way she was looking at me kind of freaked me out. Like the look you give someone at a funeral when you don’t know what to say. She told us to have a seat and said the doctor would be in shortly.

I was in the middle of telling my mom about how Fran, my old manager at work, was mad at his coworkers because they hadn’t really done anything for his birthday which was the day before. They had filled the office with balloons and streamers for another associate a few months before, bought her a princess crown, cake, and for Fran? NOTHING! We were laughing and joking and just as I was about to continue my story the doctor entered the room and looked at us and said “Well, it’s not good” He told me I had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and that everything else he was about to say I probably wouldn’t even remember. He said the most important thing was that I was otherwise very healthy and that my chances of beating this thing were very high. I had a chest x-ray done right before my biopsy. There was a mass that showed up on it which he didn’t tell me until that day. He said it was probably cancer too but that I would need a PETScan to determine what stage I was in. He said it was going to be a long road ahead of me but that it would be life changing and I would only grow stronger.

I cried a lot during that visit. My mom offered to drive me home and get my car later but I felt okay enough to drive home. I remember getting in to my car and Queen Bitch by David Bowie was playing on the radio. I couldn’t help but laugh because it was the song at the end of my favorite movie, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. As strange as it may sound, I knew at that moment everything was going to be alright.

Telling my friends was the hardest part. Having to call them up and talk to them without completely losing it was incredibly difficult. I started to hold it together better with the more calls I made. I went back and forth trying to decide whether or not to write about it on Facebook. I eventually decided that this was something I wanted to share with my friends and family and that having their support was the only thing that would help keep my spirits high and get me through this.

I am a photographer but have lost touch with my art within the last few years. I decided the following morning that I would take a picture of myself every day of the journey I was about to embark on and share it with the world on Instagram. My hope was that not only would it help me to cope but would also help others going through the same thing see that cancer is not a death sentence and you can still function normally and live your life. (For anyone not buy furosemide for dogs, my user name is maddicake_maddiecake)

The next step in my cancer adventure was to meet with an oncologist. My surgeon recommended one to me. His office was in the same town I worked in so it was very convenient. One thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want to be traveling a long distance for treatment. I already knew who he was and had heard many good things about him. Three people I know had all gone to him when they had cancer and all three were doing well and told me he was wonderful.

My parents and I met with him three days after my biopsy. It was a Saturday and I was quite impressed already that he had come in on his day off just to see me. When we arrived I was a bit surprised by his appearance. He was nothing like I had expected. A large guy with a thick Irish accent. I could barely understand a word he said. I was a bit weary but my parents both really liked him and he definitely seemed like the type of person who would do anything for his patients, day or night, which I found completely reassuring.

Shortly after meeting with my oncologist I was sent to get a PETScan. This was the test that would indicate what stage of cacer I was in and then my oncologist would be able to recommend a course of treatment for me. I was at the radiology office for about two hours, an hour of which I got to spend watching TV in a recliner. The radiologist that was administering my scan told me that his wife had Hodgkin’s when she was seventeen and has been perfectly healthy since. He told me about his two little girls and then said “You’re young and healthy, you’ll be fine.” I smiled at him because I knew that he was right and that I would be okay.

A few days later I met with my oncologist and it was then he told me that I was in Stage 2. I had tumors in my neck and under my arm. The mass that showed up on my chest x-ray was also in fact a tumor. Although I had it in three spots everything was above the abdomen which is why it was still considered Stage 2.

A bone marrow biopsy was the next task on the cancer list. When my oncologist told me that I had to get one done I think that was the most nervous I have ever been. I had always heard that extracting bone marrow was extremely painful, so this was not something I was looking forward to at all. I had talked to a few people and they told me that it really wasn’t a big deal and didn’t hurt that much. And all I have to say to that is…

LIES! ABSOLUTE LIES!

The bone marrow biopsy was completely awful. Although the actual pain of retrieving the bone marrow only lasted about three seconds, it was the worst pain I have ever felt. I was under the impression that my oncologist would only be taking it from one spot, but that was not the case. When I arrived at his office he told me he was going to remove bone marrow from two spots on my lower back. How my mother sat there and watched as my doctor performed this horrific event I will never understand. I definitely would have vomited everywhere if I saw someone screw a device into my daughter’s back and remove red licorice. Yes, that’s right, in case you were wondering, bone marrow looks like a skinny piece of red licorice! And boy did it make me hungry!

My doctor slapped two band aids on me and sent me home. I was glad the procedure wasn’t completely awful. As much as it hurt while he was doing it, I felt okay afterwards. However, I was not warned about how much pain I would be in a few hours later. I took it easy the rest of the day and took a lot of extra strength Tylenol to help with the pain. The full pain didn’t really kick in until the following morning when I could hardly sit up in bed or walk around without my back hurting.

Two days later I was scheduled to get my port put in. Between the pain I felt from the bone marrow biopsy and the pain I was about to feel from the port placement, I knew this was not going to be a great week for me.

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Ah, wig shopping. This will probably wind up being the only fun thing cancer has to offer me.

It was 10:30am on a snowy Saturday morning. My favorite gay couple was in town, so I invited them to come along with my mother and me to try on some new hair. I wasn’t sure how chemo was going to make me feel or how much hair I would actually be losing. I figured the sooner I got this out of the way, the better. Going wig shopping while I had clumps of hair falling from my head didn’t seem at all enjoyable to me.

The local costume shop also had a huge selection of makeup and wigs. I had been here many times before so I was quite familiar with the layout. The boys were meeting us there and I figured they’d find us eventually, so I walked inside with my mother and we headed straight towards the back. There were more wigs than I had remembered. Short wigs, long wigs. Straight wigs, curly wigs. Red wigs, blue wigs. Everywhere I looked, wigs. My choices were overwhelming.

When we reached the back we were immediately greeted by a friendly young woman named Kristen, who asked if we needed any help. “Where are the higher quality wigs?” my mother asked. Kristen had us follow her to a roped off section a few feet away from where we were standing. Apparently we were now entering the VIP wig section. For serious customers only! Maybe I’d get a Sam’s Club style membership card by the end of this…

I started searching for wigs that were as close to my natural hair color and style that I could find. I was mainly concerned with what customers at my job would wind up saying to me. We get a lot of regulars in and if I changed my hair too much, I knew I’d get bombarded with questions. I hadn’t told most of them what I was going through because, well, “I have cancer!” isn’t something you just blurt out loud. I thought if I got a wig that was close to my actual hair, maybe I could fool them. I picked several wigs out and threw in some fun ones just for the hell of it. The boys kept trying to get me to try on a short wig but I have never worn my hair short so I wasn’t too keen on the idea. I picked one out to make them happy (and I was kind of curious what I’d look like without long hair)

Kristen had me take a seat in front of a large mirror. I kept making jokes to my friends and mother alluding to the fact that I had cancer. Kristen quickly picked up on it.

“What kind of cancer do you have, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She was the first complete stranger that had asked me if I had cancer. It felt strange being asked that, but I guess I was going to have to get used to answering it. I’d most likely have no hair soon so I knew it was either now or never that I became comfortable talking to people I didn’t know buy cheap furosemide. I was eternally grateful that she didn’t start doing baby talk voice to me or try to hug me like I was afraid some people might do after I told them. She said she was sorry and that she would make wig shopping as fun and easy as possible. One stranger down, 138 more strangers to go! (That’s just a made up number I have no clue how many people are really going to be that nosy. Not saying Kristen was nosy, Kristen was great! We love Kristen!)

The first wig I tried on was a medium length rich copper brown little number. I loved the color but the bangs were too long and I couldn’t get them to style quite right. On to the next!

I was very excited to try on the next wig, The Showstopper. It was from the Raquel Welch wig line. Whenever I hear Raquel Welch’s name I can’t help but associate it with the Seinfeld episode, “The Summer of George.” Kristen placed the wig on my head and I was tempted to stand up and walk around the room without moving my arms back and forth. (For anyone that has no clue what I’m talking about, please go to YouTube right now and watch the episode) The wig looked amazing. It was incredible to me how natural this wig looked. It didn’t even look like I was wearing a wig! That Raquel Welch knows her shit! Although it was slightly longer and more blonde, it was still very similar to my own hair. I already knew this was going to the winner. The hair color was Honey Toast after all, how could I pass that up?

I tried on a few more wigs including the short one, and I have to say, it didn’t look half bad! I felt it was a little too mature looking for me, but it would have been great if I was 40 and wanted to show up at my kid’s soccer game looking like a MILF.

After that I tried on a black wig with straight bangs that my friend Fred dubbed “The Angelina Jolie from Salt” wig. I loved how silky and long it was. When I put it on I threw a piece over my right shoulder and did my best Cher impression. “If I could turn back tie-uh-um!” I sang out loud. Unfortunately, the color was a little too dark for my skin tone and the bangs were just a little too long.

After I grew tired of trying on wigs, I decided I wanted The Showstopper. The store was having a sale, so I got the wig for 20% off, which made me even happier. Those Raquel Welch wigs don’t come cheap! Kristen boxed up my wig and wished me well. She told me the sale was going on all month long and if I decided I wanted another wig to just come back and she’d help me again.

We left the store and I hugged my friends goodbye. They headed back to Connecticut and my mother and I drove down the street to pick out a cake for my grandmother’s birthday. I have been eating incredibly healthy and to be surrounded by such delectable sugary treats was just plain torture. I must remind myself never to step inside a bakery again. Bad idea, bad! While we were debating on what cake to get, my mother looked over at me with a big grin and said “You know you can always borrow one of grandma’s wigs if you want” A gray curly haired wig that’s probably older than I am? Yeah, I’m sure that will undoubtedly bring all the boys to my yard!

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After being diagnosed with cancer I had so many questions running through my head. My largest concern was how chemotherapy would affect my body. So many cancer patients rush into treatment without even considering the long term affects of how absorbing what is essentially mustard gas will affect them later on in life.

Fertility was one of those issues I figured I should be worried about. I was told by  my doctor that chemotherapy could potentially throw me into early menopause, meaning I would go through it before I turned 35. By the time I actually planned on having kids I’d be well into my 30’s which meant my chances of conceiving would already be lower. Throw chemotherapy on top of that and the chances didn’t seem that great to me.

Now, I am not one of those women that says “Aww!” when I see a baby, but I also know that realistically, within the next ten years I will probably turn into one of those women. So off to the fertility clinic I went! The doctor explained to me that if I froze my unfertilized eggs they would only last a few years. The science is fairly new and there is no way to tell how long they will last, probably no longer than five years. If I decided to freeze my eggs as embryos (eggs fertilized with semen) they would most likely last for about 15 years. Since I don’t plan on having kids in five years or less, it seemed to me that I should probably freeze at least some of my eggs as embryos.

I had about five seconds to decide if this was what I definitely wanted to do before I started chemo. As it turns out, being on day three of your period is the absolute perfect time to start harvesting your eggs. The stars had aligned, everything was falling into place perfectly, it must have been a sign from above! Without any hesitation I said “Let’s get this shit rolling!” Ten days of injecting hormones into my thighs, I knew this was going to be a tough road ahead of me.

I immediately decided to ask my best friend, Adam, for his “goods”. I figured it was a win-win situation since he is gay, and if I didn’t wind up having to use the eggs then he could have as many as his heart desired when he was ready to start a family. He said he would think about it and after a few days he finally agreed. I was so happy that I was doing this with someone whom I could trust and have loved deeply for many years instead of a stranger from a sperm bank.

I  received a phone call the following day from a nurse at the fertility clinic, Mary-Ann, and my whole world was shattered. I was told I wouldn’t be able to use Adam’s sperm because it needed to be screened first and the process would take six months. This meant that now I had the tedious task of sifting through hundreds of profiles online until I found a suitable donor. I was extremely hesitant to do so at first. The thought of potentially having a baby with a complete stranger repulsed me. After I got off the phone with Mary-Ann I spent several hours trying to warm myself up to the idea of visiting the website they suggested and looking for a donor. I kept reminding myself that my fertility would probably be fine after chemotherapy and that I was doing all of this only as a worse case scenario kind of thing.

So there I sat, staring at my computer screen trying to decide if I wanted a donor with green eyes or brown eyes? Wavy or straight hair? Light or medium complexion? Was his medical history clear? Should I pay extra to download a photo of the donor or just pray to God he wasn’t hideous? After two days of the Great Online Sperm Hunt I kept going back to one profile in particular. He was 6’2″, 203lbs, green eyes, wavy brown hair, and had a fair completion. He was Belarusian (yes, I had to look it up and see if it was a country. Turns out it is! Right next to Russia and Latvia) His medical history was clear and the staff said he was quite attractive. A big factor that played in my decision making process was his answer to who he would have lunch with, alive or dead: George Carlin. An answer I myself might have given. If I did actually wind up having to use the embryos I’d obviously want to turn out the coolest kid possible. The Belarusian was the clear winner for that.The sickest part of the whole shopping for jizz online thing was that there was actually a place to put in a promo code! No lie, www.cryobank.com for any of you that feel like checking it out. 795 bucks later I had Belarusian swimmers on their way.

February 13th is when they scheduled my egg retrieval, which in my eyes seemed totally stupid considering there had been a warning in the beginning of the week about how it was going to snow like crazy that day. My appointment was originally at 1pm, but since I didn’t take my trigger shot (to stimulate the release of my eggs) until almost 4 hours after I was supposed to, they changed it to 4pm. Mom, dad, and I all piled into the truck and headed an hour South to go get the job done. When we got there, it was a pleasant surprise to see someone else in the waiting room and it made me feel like less of an asshole for making the staff come in on a snow day. (Even though it was their own fault for scheduling my retrieval for that day)

After an hour and  half of waiting it was my turn to go in. I put on my gown, slipper socks, and hairnet cap and was ready to do this thing! In between jokes about Saran wrap underwear and sleeping with his sister, the anesthesiologist started preparing me for my 20 minute nap.The nurse told me to lay back and then to scoot my butt down towards her. “Keep going. More. A little more.” I felt like my vagina was going to hit this poor woman in the face at any moment. Then she said “I can’t position you right, I think your left buttcheek is bigger than you’re right.” I had to lift my butt up and down to try to get my cheeks to be even and eventually we had great success. Off to Sleepyland I went and before I knew it I was being woken up and asked how I was feeling.

They retrieved a total of twelve eggs. Seven would be frozen as eggs and five as Belarusian fertilized embryos. However, of the five embryos, only two were mature. I didn’t exactly understand what this meant until I got a phone call the following day. Only one egg had been fertilized. The other mature egg didn’t take and the non-mature eggs were unusable. Great! All this work to make sure I didn’t have to have kids within the next few years ruined. They told me I could harvest my eggs again if I wanted to, but the idea of shooting myself with hormones again on top of starting chemo didn’t seem too appealing to me. They scheduled an appointment on the 24th of February for me to talk with the doctor where can i buy furosemide online uk. I can’t wait…

So here I lay, in bed, watching Gilmore Girls on Valentine’s Day (though it’s after midnight so I suppose it’s over), contemplating if I want to go through egg harvesting again or just hope for the best and pray that I won’t even need to use my backup eggs. Man, all this egg talk has me craving an omelet! Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all!

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