The long story

Thank you all again for the hopeful comments and all the positive vibes headed my way!

It’s day 2 of bed rest, and so far, I’ve been doing a much better job of keeping a positive outlook on this not-yet-doomed cycle.  Hubby’s been doing his best to keep me distracted.  We’re now halfway through The Slap, and we have Cloud Atlas (all 3 hours of it) on standby.  I’ve been watching a whole lot of TV, but I also have my new book and blog reading to keep me company.

Blog writing (and commenting), however, have not been so easy.  The laptop I usually use is kind of a dinosaur and gets so hot, I can feel the radiation even through a pillow.  So right now, I’m using my husband’s netbook, which is annoyingly tiny.  It’ll work for now, though.

So…where was I?  Oh, yes, transfer day.

When we arrived at the clinic, the waiting room was surprisingly busy for 9:00 on a Saturday morning.  We had a bit of a wait past our 9:15 appointment time, and I could already feel my bladder filling up.  Despite the Valium, I was starting to get nervous.  Then Dr. C called us back and showed us these beauties:

Our medical miracles

He told us, “given y’all’s history,” he recommended transferring all three, a conclusion Hubby and I had already come to on our own.  The other four were still growing, but they were well behind.  We informed Dr. C that, for this reason, we’d decided against the genetic screening for anything that did make it to blast.  If it comes to it, we’ll transfer whatever we have left (if anything) and hope for the best.

There was another wait once I stripped down and covered my nether regions with the tiniest drape they have.  Hubby and I allowed ourselves to get a little carried away discussing twins and what kind of gift we should get for the staff when we “graduate” from the clinic.  Then there were more consents to be signed, including the “risk of multiples” disclaimer, which, I’m pretty sure, Hubby smiled giddily while signing.

When Dr. C finally returned, he let me know I was welcome to use the bathroom, just to relieve the pressure a bit.  It had been at least an hour since I finished my 32 oz of water, and I was already feeling like I was about to burst.  I wrapped myself in the mini-skirt of a drape and waddled to the bathroom, but I was afraid to pee too much and further delay the transfer, so it didn’t help much.

Finally, the embryologist checked in with us, confirming names and dates of birth, as well as the number we’d decided on.  I had requested turning the monitor a bit more this time, since at the last transfer, I couldn’t see what was happening at all.  I also propped myself up a bit more so that when Dr. C asked me to be still, my head wasn’t lying flat on the pillow.

I had already been practicing the visualizations Dr. N had talked me through, but I think seeing that little white light helped the reality of our situation sink in more than anything else.  Those three embryos are now (hopefully) getting cozy in my womb, rather than in a sterile petri dish.

I had to lie there another 30+ minutes, but halfway through, I couldn’t take the pressure any more, and had to have a catheter.  I’d never had one before, but holy sweet relief was it worth it.

Then it was home and straight to the couch, where I spent the remainder of the day, except for bathroom breaks and to get my PIO injection.  I called my sister and my dad to let them know how it went, and they were both very supportive and eager to learn how this turns out.

Beta day isn’t until the 24th, which seems like an eternity.  We can call Tuesday afternoon to learn the fate of our other four embryos.  I go back to work on Monday and hope I’ll be busy enough not to obsess over the results of this cycle.

I’m trying to stay positive.  I’m trying to stay hopeful.  I just want this to work so badly.

19 thoughts on “The long story

  1. You both show a lot of courage to have come this far on your journey. Listen to music, visualize, peaceful thoughts, baby lullabies. One day a time, treasure each minute, and don’t sweat the small stuff.

  2. There is absolutely no scientific evidence for this, just anecdotal. BUT. Somewhere, I can’t remember where, I read this probably-made-up statistic that laughter during bedrest can improve outcomes by like 30%. I am sure it’s utter hogwash, but I made the mistake of telling Mo, and he has been my own personal comedian ever since. At the very least, a funny movie will help pass the time. It’s hard not to worry, and even harder not to doubt. But do what you can to find something to laugh at. It will make you feel better, at least temporarily. I promise.

    Big hugs,

  3. OOh! This is so exciting. I am legitimately saying prayers for you (not the, “I’m saying a prayer for you but not actually doing it” thing). Good luck to you, friend. I hope one or more of those beauts make their home in your womb for a good long 9 mos! xo

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