Might as well share it as we heard it from on-call Doctor.
"The good news is that the procedure went well. There were no eggs, but the procedure itself went very well. We flushed the 4 follicles and blah—I'm sharing a dozen fascinating details about the super-cool method we use to look for the cells in the fluid, and we did it this way and that today, but, nope, 4 follicles, 0 eggs—blah, blah. This almost never happens. It's been several years since I've seen it. We usually get an average of 8 mature eggs. This is disappointing."
Pause for DH and me to ask a few questions, to which Doctor supplied only marginally topical answers. For example, I asked, given this finding, whether it's possible that I really haven't been ovulating on my own for a while, or all the time, but still producing what mimic ovulatory indicators — positive OPKs, measurable follicles that follow an ovulation pattern, appropriate hormone readings, etc.
Doctor's exact reply (after pulling a classic "I'm not actually listening to your words but am waiting for your lips to stop moving so I can insert what I most want to say next"):
"Would I try again? No. I wouldn't. You might talk to Dr. K about donor eggs.* I don't know what she'd recommend about that just now."
DH and I couldn't end our "conversation" fast enough.
Doctor wasn't quite finished though. "Oh, and you'll be glad to know that you can stop the progesterone. No more shots tra-la.** Just take your doxycycline as though you had the procedure.*** But not with dairy, because the calcium acts as a binder. Call me anytime today or this evening if you have more questions."
"I won't be calling," I said.
"Yes, talk to Dr. K. She watched the procedure in real-time at home. It's really remarkable, she could see the whole thing on a flat-screen TV."
Doctor left the area. DH and I breathed and said, "Let's go."
I dressed, fast, in the bathroom. I cried a little but sucked it up and said no . . . later.
When I came out, the nurse shared her surprise that I was up and around and ready to leave. Most people need a bit more rest, it seems. But my adrenaline had rushed at hearing "no eggs," (BP skyrocketed, too, says DH) and I would not experience any pain or feel like I'd even been anesthetized until fairly late in the evening.
As DH bundled me into my coat, the young nurse trainee came over to say good-bye. She was sweet. She really was. And when she enthusiastically said, "It's really nice out there — have a great Sunday," DH and I shared a bittersweet smile and strode out the way we'd come in 3 hours earlier: hand in hand, heart in heart.
*Guess what, dude, we already did. At length. We took the entire holiday season to weigh whether we should use donor eggs or take one shot with mine. It was a close call. But with eyes open we chose to do what has just freshly failed. Failed so much that none of DH's sperm even get to meet my eggs today. Today, we have learned my eggs are so bad that they don't even exist. So you might want to give us a minute.
**To be fair, he actually ended that sentence at "shots." And in the moment I assume he knows that I don't have to STOP progesterone, because that is not started until after a successful retrieval as defined by a harvest of more than ZERO eggs.
***Uh, I did have the procedure.