“Where’s your other ovary?”

Not something one wants to hear from one’s doctor when there’s an ultrasound wand deep in you-know-where, I must admit.

As you may have gathered, I went for my first scan since starting the injections on Saturday. I generally get to the Clinic early enough to say hi to the staff and get rid of my “sharps” – used needles, leftover solution etc – before going in for my appointment.

This is now the third cycle I’m doing with the Amazing Dr H, so we seem to have this whole thing down pat. We chat for a bit before going into his examination room – bottoms off, on the table, blanket for modesty. We quickly located the right ovary, counting eight developing eggs, and then Dr H switched over to have a look at the other side.

“Where’s your other ovary?” he asked. Sorry, what? Not really a phrase you ever want to hear out of your doctor’s mouth. But, true enough, no ovary could be seen on the little monitor. After some exploratory prodding, Dr H asked me to shift my leg a little and poked my stomach, shifting the reluctant ovary into place. I said something to the effect of “Oh, good, so it didn’t disappear after all” – but as I was in a bit of a panic at the time, I can’t recall my exact words.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Dr H. “I’ve never had that happen to me before.” Well, good, I thought – before scuttling off the table to put my underwear back on.

I suppose my ovary was just shy.

So far, all on track for Donation Day (D-Day, really!) a week from now. Dr H says that I am doing “great as always” and that he’s very happy with how things are going. So, yay! I was given a shot of Cetrotide at the Clinic to help the eggs mature – and to stop premature ovulation – and I’m back in for scan number two on Saturday morning. The IVF co-ordinator (not my usual one) left me with a bit of a bruise, a bit of a rash and a heck of an itch. It’s all for a good cause.

Speaking of good causes – and good things – I found out today that recipient number two gave birth to twins (a girl and a boy!) in October. Hooray!

On being five again

Easter eggs by Michael Mol, flickr.com

Last night we had an Easter egg hunt. Despite the fact that it’s over two weeks to Easter, it was 8pm, and we are all in our mid-twenties to early thirties.

C roped us around to her house, luring us with the promise of chocolate eggs and a braai to follow. After one or two glasses of wine, chili poppers in the oven and with three torches between us, six of us – two journalists, a philosophy student, one programmer, an engineer, one communications type and a get-fit-lose-weight-now specialist – clambered into the flowerbeds, rustled hedges and turned over pots like the seasoned egg-hunting professionals we are.

Sometimes you just need to just act like children again. For fifteen glorious minutes we giggled and shrieked and fell over roots and compared hauls – glad to be five years old again, where the biggest worry in the world was what cartoon was going to come on next.

After that, we retired to our normal – admittedly, more grown-up but still fun – selves. We drank wine, moaned over boyfriends and stalkers and work things, discussed current affairs and debated hot topics. All the while, nibbling the edges of marshmallow eggs and sucking on the smaller chocolate ones until the caramel center broke through.