As we finish out the month of January, the C4YW Blog welcomes back, Lindsay Ruland, for the third installment of her monthly series! Check back often to read more into her journey. Here, Lindsay shares with us the experience of egg retrieval surgery. Be sure to visit the website and register for this year’s event in Seattle!
There’s nothing quite like the moment you hear those three little words,“You have cancer,” unless, of course, they are then followed by,“Treatment may compromise your fertility.”
While some young women in this situation may initially worry about losing their hair or their breasts, the first thing that popped into my mind was that I could lose my ability to have children.
As soon as my breast surgeon called for neoadjuvant chemotherapy, I asked, “Is there any way I could freeze my eggs before we get started?”
He pointed me in the direction of several fertility clinics, but reminded me that I had a very small window of time to complete a cycle of IVF before beginning chemo: 3 weeks.
Two days later, I found myself uncomfortably sitting in the office of a fertility specialist. He went over the procedures very brusquely, explaining that I would need to have blood drawn every day to measure my estradiol levels, and that every 3 days or so, I would need a vaginal ultrasound to check on what my ovaries were cooking. I would also need to take an estrogen blocker while undergoing the fertility treatments to avoid feeding the tumor.
“We have to start now,” he said, abruptly getting up from his chair and opening the office door. Confused, I followed him down the hall and found myself in the ultrasound room. Without drinks or dinner, that man had my pants off and my legs up in stirrups in record timing. Needless to say, I was a little embarrassed. Apparently, however, he liked what he saw with that alien probe. My insides got the green light and he sent me back to meet with his nurse to go over my hormone shots.
My head was spinning as all of this information was flying at me. I had just been diagnosed with cancer, how could I keep track of everything they were telling me? I started to cry in the consult room with the nurse as she gave me my first hormone shot, not because the needle hurt, but because I was totally overwhelmed. My mother had been wise enough to bring along her notepad and had recorded everything that had been said along the way. Without her, I would have been lost.
The next day, I showed up for my blood work and they found that my estradiol levels weren’t high enough, so I would need to bump up the dosage. This would also be the first time I would give myself the shot at home. I had to find YouTube tutorials to remember how to accurately mix the hormone solutions. I prepped the site, pinched my skin, and stuck the needle into my abdomen. A huge welt appeared on my skin and I freaked out, hysterically calling the nurse on call. Apparently, I’d used the wrong size needle tip and hadn’t stuck it in deep enough. As the days went on, I got to be somewhat of a pro at giving myself the hormone injections.
“Wow! You’ll have enough eggs to fill an Easter basket!” the doctor said as he examined my painfully full ovaries. About two weeks in, I certainly felt as though I was pregnant. I found myself waddling to get around because my ovaries were so huge and full of eggs. I was officially on ovary overload.
The nurses called and said that my hormone levels were so high that I would likely be triggering over the weekend. That meant I would need to get a giant intramuscular shot of HCG in my buttock. My mom and I combed over trusty YouTube and found a crazy Russian video of this very procedure. When the time came, I lay on her sofa, pulled down my pants, and let her jab me in the butt muscle with HCG.
The day of my egg retrieval surgery, I was being a wise-ass It was the only way I could cope. They took me back to the cold OR and had me get onto the table. They strapped me down and put my legs up into stirrups.
“What is this, some kind of bondage movie?” I asked as the anesthesiologist shot me up with the good stuff. I never got to hear a response. I woke up and I felt as though someone had taken a baseball bat to my uterus. All I could think about was getting a vegan “ cheese steak.” The doctor walked past and gave me a double thumbs-up,
“Thirty-seven!” he exclaimed.
Thirty-four eggs survived the freezing. I was proud of myself. At least in some way, my body hadn’t failed me and I had a safety net for the future. One week later, I started chemotherapy. The roller-coaster had only just begun.
Lindsay Ruland is a 26-year-old survivor and a native of Baltimore, MD. She currently works as a histotechnician, and aspires to become an oncology nurse specializing in patient navigation and breast health education. It is her goal to raise awareness and to make resources and information more readily available for younger populations of women affected by breast cancer. Come back to the C4YW blog for future posts by Lindsay, or follow her story on her blog: CANCERLAND.