I woke up yesterday feeling like it it was Christmas morning, giddy with excitement about my 14 eggs. For IVF 1.0, we had 11, so I was hopeful that this was already a better start.
I lay in bed with Mr. T, thinking about what those 14 eggs would be up to now, wondering how many of them were mature and how many had survived the night as new embryos. I tried to visualize my eggs meeting Mr. T’s sperm and how they would have to love each other as much as T and I love each other, becoming happy healthy embryos that would one day become our happy healthy baby.
Mr. T wakes up and sees me smiling.
“Thinking about your 14 eggs, aren’t you?” he guessed, knowing me well.
“Maybe,” I smile, trying to be mysterious and giving him a sexy look, despite the fact that we both know there won’t be any sexiness for a while. We are under orders to be chaste until sometime after the transfer and two week wait, a reminder of how our physical coupling is irrelevant in making a child. Any baby we have will have to be an immaculate conception. Another of life’s little ironies since I wrote my undergraduate thesis about “Annunciation” paintings- the moment Gabriel delivers the news to Mary that she will become a mother.
After lying in bed enjoying the happy thought of those 14 eggs for a while longer, doubt invites itself to our bed and my head.
“T- What if none of the 11 eggs are mature? What if none of them made it through the night? What if the nurse dropped them on the floor and lost them all?”
My husband knows this routine, the “worst case scenario” game I play far to often for his liking.
“It’s not worth worrying about until you hear what the doctor,” he says in his best common sense tone, the tone that says he’s not playing my game.
As if on cue, the phone rings. It’s Dr. IVF. I try to calm myself, prepared for bad news, and impatiently rush through the pleasantries anxious to get the bottom line. His tone and greeting sounds positive- or does it?
“So, 12 of the 14 eggs were mature,” he says. “And of those twelve, seven fertilized. We’ll plan on a three-day transfer, but we’ll give you a call on Tuesday if we decide to wait for a five day transfer.”
Relief rushes over me, as I know the first hurdle is over. We have seven potential embryos, the same as we had from IVF 1.0.
But as soon as I recall the comparison, anxiety replaces my relief. Despite my best efforts not to think about IVF 1.0 and what followed, I keep being reminded.
I spend the rest of the day feverishly cleaning the house, sweeping out every corner, scrubbing tiles on the shower ceiling I’ve never scrubbed before, and making chicken soup to freeze for after transfer.
Mr. T says I’m “nesting.” I’m surprised he’s even heard the term. But perhaps I am. Hopefully my body knows something my mind can’t quite believe- that this is my last chance to do all this before I’m pregnant for the next nine months.
Embryo transfer is currently scheduled for tomorrow (Tuesday, Day 3) at 11am Pacific Time-unless I get the call as I did with IVF 1.0 to wait until Day 5. That call will come sometime before 9am which won’t give me much time to prepare. My coworkers will just have to learn not to count on me this week. I’ll update you all when I can.
Thanks to you all for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers. I may be a bad twitter and blog friend this week, but I truly appreciate everyone’s support.