So — obviously — I got my period eventually, rather sweetly timed to ensure that if I did a cycle, I’d be finding out just before Christmas how successful it had been. Which of course is exactly the additional frisson of stress/excitement that this time of year needs. (I mean there may be people out there for whom spending 72 hours with family doesn’t combine a bunch of unspoken simmering resentments dating back decades, a weird regression to roles that are at least 20 years out of date, some passive-aggressive comments about weight-pulling and a general underlying feeling that everything could blow sky high at any time, but I’m not one of them.)

Anyway, I digress. Day 2 scan showed that the cysts had gone, which was cause for delight. But then day 2 blood test results showed weirdly elevated levels of oestrogen. Day 5 scan showed follicles growing well but the blood tests showed some hormonal anomaly. So while my clinic’s version of a natural cycle normally involves taking a small amount of stimulating hormone, they told me not to start taking them, but to come back for a scan on day 7 and more blood tests. Then those blood tests showed high levels of a hormone that suggested I was going to ovulate, which meant again not taking the stimulating hormone and instead taking a (new to me) drug called indomethacin (which is apparently similar to ibuprofen but inhibits natural ovulation.)

In the end, despite my body usually ovulating like clockwork on the 12th day of my cycle, the scans dictated a day 9 egg retrieval, which just so happened to be on the Saturday morning after my work Christmas party, and the day of a good friend’s annual Christmas do. So that was festive. (It was also the day after the clinic’s Christmas party so I did just check that the anaesthetist and the consultant looked sober — and was relieved to find that they hadn’t actually been…)

I feel like I now gloss over the “what actually happens” bit in cycles now, in terms of the mechanics of it, partly because I’ve written about it before (here and here if you’re interested) but partly because it’s almost routine. Although this time there was a bit that definitely wasn’t routine when the anaesthetist brought me round too early (in my opinion) because suddenly I was conscious of the ultrasound probe so I slurred “Can I have some more drugs please?” and he told me “It’s all over” and then I felt someone insert the antibiotic — which is in the form of an anal suppository — and I thought “I really didn’t need to be awake for that.”