Ok, so first things first. I do not usually write about my cycles while I am cycling, which is kind of crazy since I use this blog to process my thoughts on stuff, and you would think that would emotionally constipate me. But, because I typically share this blog on facebook, I don't like everyone to know exactly where I am in my cycles. I've done that before and it was a complete disaster. So, I am breaking my rule because I am not posting all my posts on facebook anymore, and I just kind of have to write about this cycle. So, if you stumble across this post and you are a facebook person, please don't mention anything about my cycle specifics. Please pretend you're reading about someone else. I realize this is kind of weird, but there are times that I kind of regret having everything out there on facebook because I don't have the blissful anonymity of being able to write about my transfers and betas as they happen out on the blogosphere. At the same time, I don't regret spreading awareness and (I might be flattering myself) acting as a resource for others who aren't quite out of the infertility closet.
|Feeling peaceful, feeling hopeful...just letting everything be.|
So. My transfer is complete, and our little embryos are snuggled in. What's that, you say? I thought you were doing a Single Embryo Transfer...I thought you'd done all this research and convincing and were all set on your decision? What happened?
Well, apparently that was one of those things that I have to let go of. The day before transfer I received a call from our embryologist asking how we'd like him to choose which embryo to transfer. What the freak? I thought--because I had just had this conversation a month earlier with the nurse who asked if we wanted to thaw two and transfer one and I totally didn't get it. Why on earth would anyone discard a perfectly good embryo? I mean, SET is great but I want to THAW ONE, TRANSFER ONE, thankyouverymuch. Not outright choose one blast over another. And now here was our embryologist, saying the same thing the nurse did. Making me feel like these people truly think we're crazy. Except he explained it. Apparently, they freeze the embryos in the same tray. There was never a chance for us to transfer only one, not since the blasts were frozen in June. I was very, very upset about this, because I had AGONIZED over the SET decision and really convinced myself that it was best (and still think it is), and it was never really a choice. So, I informed the embryologist that I guess we'd be transferring two after all. And now everything made sense--I would think we were crazy, too, if I thought we were asking to triage blasts for the sake of doing SET.
I was really mad at the apparent lapse in communication (how exactly does this come up THE DAY BEFORE TRANSFER???), but did not want to address it immediately. I don't really want to be aggravated and angry going into transfer, and I don't really want to piss off the people in charge of my future precious cargo. So we went with it.
Remember my cast of characters I was going to line up to watch transfer and give us mucho good juju? Here they are in action:
|Good Fortune buddies, and embryos #19 and #20 to go into my waiting uterus.|
I usually feel funny about posting blast pictures, too. But, I figure they're kind of far away. The one on the left was "so-so" according to the embryologist--it wasn't fully re-expanded, which was disappointing. We had the choice again right before the transfer to not transfer it, but, to repeat myself, WHY WOULDN'T I TRANSFER BOTH if they're thawed? Just because it's a bit of an ugly duckling doesn't mean it shouldn't get a shot. I'd rather give it a chance in the uterine environment where it belongs and if it makes it, great, if not, at least it had a fighting chance. I am not ok with just discarding a blast. Those are the only children we've ever had. They are hard won and represent a lot of time and grief and medication and monetary cost. Now the one on the right, that one is perfecto. A B5 hatching blast. Yup, that's right, there's a little smudgy area at the bottom right where it is actually starting to hatch. I have never had one of these miracles before, so I can only hope it is a good sign.
Once home for bed rest, I set up my little meditation-y area on the coffee table:
I am full of hope. I am full of my little superstitions, and my little meditations, and I send sticky, loving thoughts down to my precious cargo all day long. My rest has been lovely, and I'm totally taking it easy all week. I am doing my best not to overanalyze everything. I am doing my best to just keep telling myself, "You've done all you can do. It's either happening or it's not, and you can hope for the happening, but there is no sense getting all crazy about it." I really feel pretty calm.
Of course I'm not without my crazy, like the little gallery audience I brought to transfer. Oh, and the virtual blastocyst shrine I have going in the dining room. Remember that beautiful Buddha statue my husband bought me for Christmas, the best and hardest present ever because it represented our lost baby from the miscarriage last summer? Well, that Buddha is watching over our little babylings. I have the pictures secured by the Hope shell in his lap. And floating above is my little clay star that a friend made me after our ectopic tragedy, to represent our little lost babyling who neglected to ask for directions. I hope that star guides these little potential babies home. I wanted to include our losses in our bid for hope. Without those losses we wouldn't be where we are today. I hope they help ease our take-home baby home to stay. We are so ready.