Three weeks after my failed cycle, and my bloating has not gone down. None of my dresses fit. I pulled on a pair of Spanx under one of the ones that sort of did, and by the time the evening was over the top had rolled down. My belly will not be contained.
It's awful, and I don't know what to do about it. I make and glug iced tea. I drink water. I drink coffee. I avoid salt. I seek out salt. I go to exercise classes. I go to ab day. Nothing is helping. I look like I swallowed half a volleyball. Or like I'm four months pregnant. Which is its own horridness.
Meanwhile, I call Dr. Big Guns' nursing line to ask for a refill of the meds used to control my brain tumor, and to find out if this bloat is normal or what the deal is. No one ever picks up this phone line. I mean, not once in nearly two years of treatment has this phone line ever been answered live. They always listen and call back. This time, hours pass, they call back, I miss the call, and they leave a message saying they need to test my blood first before doing the refill, and they need to know when I'm doing my next cycle, and am I really going out of town for the whole summer, and blah blah blabh fucking blah they haven't called in my prescription. No comment about bloat.
I call them back.
I inform them that last summer I went off the meds, and that's why my prolactin levels were elevated when I did my first IVF stim cycle this year, the one to which I didn't respond, and even though Dr. Big Guns feels those are unrelated, that subsequent cycles with my prolactin controlled did respond, and I'd like to have my prolactin controlled when we start what is likely to be my final attempt at IVF. Also, WTF with this bloat?
They call me back. Okay, fine, they say, they've checked with Dr. Big Guns (standard practice at this clinic - discount what the patient reports about her own body unless confirmed by someone else, preferably someone male), and they'll refill my prescription. Thanks, I say, what about this bloat though?
Have I had weight gain, they ask.
Yes, I say.
Have I had shortness of breath? they ask.
Not especially, I say.
Then it's not related, they tell me. The sound of hand washing coming through clearly on the line.
It's been this way consistently since my failed cycle, and you're telling me it's not related?
Go see your GP, they shrug. They did the same thing when I had ongoing pain from the hysterosalpinogram. I forced them to check me out anyway. Nope, shrug, nothing, we don't know.
I recognize that I am probably among my nursing team's least favorite people to speak to on the phone. Whereas in real life I am funny, and snarky, and empathetic, and love my dog, and able to make soup for my friends, on the phone with my clinic I am curt and dismissive. Or too honest. How are you? they'll ask on the phone, pro forma. This is my waking nightmare, I might answer. Nice to see you, one of the attendings said as he came in this last cycle to probe my vagina. Oh sure, I said, unable to stop myself, it's a dream come true, being here again.
