I can’t quite bring myself to say the P-word, but today might be the beginning of that particular condition. And this is how it happened.
To my utter amazement, I slept fantastically last night. I woke up about 7 and lounged in bed, thinking of the day ahead and hoping for a little more shut-eye before finally making myself get up about 8:00. I took the morning easy. Made myself a bowl of cereal. Took a shower. Received a sweet text from my sister, Zappa. I was feeling pretty darn good.
Then, at 10:08, the phone rang. My heart stopped. I immediately imagined picking it up to hear that our PHOIs hadn’t survived.
Turns out, it was just the dentist’s office, calling to see if my husband wanted an appointment that had opened up for this afternoon.
My heart was still pounding for a couple of minutes after that, but at least I could breathe again.
We arrived at the clinic right on time, signed in, and were finally called back by Dr. C himself a few minutes after 11. By this time, I was feeling the effects of the Valium, and Dr. C kept asking me if I was feeling drunk. According to Hubby, I was also veeerry chatty, although I don’t recall being overly so. The nurse checked my bladder, but we had to wait a little longer for it to really fill up.
Finally, Dr. C came back into our cozy little room (my favorite one because the lights are on a dimmer–and, let’s face it, when my ghastly white legs are on display, not to mention my vag, the dimmer the better) and explained what was going to happen. There were more consents to sign (really?!), and the nice lab guy (not the embryologist, whom I still haven’t met) poked his head in to confirm that we were getting the right embryos.
The transfer itself was not exactly what I’d hoped for. Cr. C asked me to lie perfectly still, which meant I couldn’t see the screen at the moment these little ones were blasted into my ute.
I did, however, get to see the screen shot afterward, with the tiny white speck of our embryos right where they should be. And are now hopefully making themselves at home.
In his usual candor, Dr. C explained that the transfer itself went well, that we were at a higher risk for multiples because we had chosen to transfer two (Hubby becomes positively giddy at the very thought of this!), and that it was too bad we didn’t have any embryos left, waiting for us to use in the future.
A half hour later, I was finally allowed to pee. The bathroom was right across the hall, so I wrapped a sheet around my nether regions and tiptoed there and back, rather than go through the excruciating ordeal of trying to dress my lower half with an agonizingly full bladder.
And then we came home. I’ve been doing my best to stay put on the couch, getting up only to pee. Although, Hubby’s now off to teach his class this evening, so if I need a snack, I’m just gonna have to get it myself.
Before we left, I asked about how much activity I’m allowed to have after these two days of bed rest, and was assured that normal activity beginning on Friday should be fine. Now I just have to call my dad and inform him that walking and short hikes are not out of the question for me during their visit. Apparently, he was concerned about me having any kind of fun at all, for fear that it would prevent these little guys from sticking. Which is sweet, in a very fatherly kind of way.
What I neglected to ask was what I’m allowed to do about this persistent constipation. My regular isn’t very “regular,” but this is getting ridiculous. Any suggestions on potentially-pregnant-safe remedies to get things moving?
Okay, that is not the note I want to end this post on. I’m feeling surprisingly positive. Happy, even. Next Friday is the first beta, and I’m cautiously optimistic we’ll get good news that day. It’s also the day my family returns home, so if it’s not good news, I’ll only have Hubby to lean on. And all of you, of course. Which is enough.