CVS

My previous post reminded me that I neglected to tell the wonderful, amazing, Fun-Time story of my CVS.

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It was heavily suggested that due to my age, we go through CVS to make sure there were no genetic problems with any of the little guys.  “But, we had PGS,” I countered.  Aaaaand, he countered back that PGS is not 100% accurate and he’s seen babies diagnosed with Down’s after PGS.  So, we chose a clinician out of Chicago (60 miles away) who is credited with bringing CVS to the United States from Europe.  According to reviews online, people seem to like him.  It seemed like a no-brainer.

My first red flag was that I requested pre-procedure instructions, which they happily provided:

  1. Be here 15 minutes early.

So…yeah.  Highly informative.

We rode the train in on procedure day, walked the 10 blocks to the office and presented ourselves at the front desk.  They asked me for a urine sample, which I HAPPILY provided, then went back.  They ultrasounded the boys for a good long time, trying to locate their little placentas.  How this is possible is beyond me.  I did very much enjoy this as I got to see my 2 inch long babies squirming around, practicing karate and one guy was actually bobbing up and down like he was on a trampoline (and then fell to the bottom of the amniotic sack like a rock at the bottom of a pool).  What I very much did not enjoy was their conversation.  I heard a good deal about the vacation that Mr. and Mrs. MD were about to take.  And about the packing.  And about the plane tickets.  “Did you drink water today?  Your bladder’s empty.”  (Remember those great pre-procedure instructions?  Oh, and remember they had me give a urine sample up front?)  And, dear God, what was that awful pain?  “Relax.  It’s just a CVS.  That doesn’t hurt.”

Did you seriously just jab me in the coochy with a catheter, then suck out part of my uterus…with no warning…and no explanation…then chastise me for being nervous and in pain?!  Seriously?!

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Then the REAL fun began.  Remember, we’re talking about 3 placentas that needed to be sampled.  So, we moved onto the right abdominal site.  It may help to explain that I’ve had some residual pain to that right side ever since the third IVF cycle.  That stimulation seemed to really bother my right ovary, then during the retrieval, my bladder was perforated.  It’s been bothering me ever since.

So, he injected “lidocaine”, which did not burn at all and made me think he accidentally used saline.  “I’ll take the 18 gauge.”  I’ll remind y’all, I’m a former ER nurse.  That’s the needle size used for traumas, anyone heavily bleeding, or drunk people who have pissed you off.  The information quickly sunk in that he was going to shove a 3 foot long pointy branch into my delicate lady parts.

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Now, I’ve had some pain in my life.  I’ve had steroid injections to both feet and PRP injections to the elbow.  Those hurt like a Mother, leaving me unable to use said body part for several days.  But I  controlled myself, stayed still and let the doctor do his thing.  This was something Completely. Different.  First off, he was very interested in his conversation…about himself.  So, I can totally understand why he didn’t think to explain what he was doing or WARN ME HE WAS ABOUT TO SUDDENLY JAB THAT F#$%ING NEEDLE AS HARD AND FAST AS HE COULD THROUGH MY UTERINE WALL!  I’ll admit it.  I screamed, and my legs bent up.  “That hurt?!  You have to stay still.  Put your legs down.”

So, DH did what he could to comfort me while I wept through the rest of the procedure, knowing that this was only sample 2 of 3.  Honestly, had he not been there, I would have gotten off that ultrasound table and walked out, never to return.  Everything I read on the internet advised me that this was an uncomfortable procedure that caused mild, tolerable pain.  This was definitely NOT that.

Thankfully, there was probably a reason for that pain over there, because the left side was not terrible.  Firstly, I now knew that he was going to JAB suddenly.  Secondly, I did not have preexisting pain there.

So, the procedure came to a conclusion, we looked at the boys again to make sure there were no deleterious effects from the procedure, then the ultrasound tech put little kissy shaped band-aides over the gaping puncture wounds.  …AND this was the extent of my post-procedure instructions.

Then came the fun trip – 10 blocks, to the train station, with Bertha (the uterus.  Get it.  BIRTHa?) cramping up a storm the whole time.  Thanks for the recovery time, guys.  That was special.

So, in the event I am ever faced with this procedure again, I’m thinking I’ll pass.  Thanks but no thanks.  And I’ll certainly never go back to this septuagenarian with unstable hands again.