I think I did a good job keeping my emotions in check about this transfer. I was so nervous that we were going to get there and they would tell us the embryo stopped growing.
After I drank my 32 oz of water and took my Valium, we got to the clinic and were led back by the nurse. We then changed into our sexy baby garb.
We had the same doctor from our retrieval. She handed us a picture of the embryo and told us it was 4 cells.
“I thought it was supposed to be between six and eight,” I said.
“Yes, it should be. It’s a little slower growing, but I have seen people get pregnant with 4-celled embryos,” she said. I wonder if that’s in the Fertility Doctor’s Guide of What to Say to Infertiles. We asked her why I could have had 5 mature follicles on the US and get 5 eggs retrieved, to only have one mature egg.
She said she didn’t really know why that happened. That the HCG trigger doesn’t always work sometimes. “Usually we have you speak with your regular doctor about that.” Her awkwardness was radiating off her.
I took the picture from her and she walked out of the room. And you know what? Sure I spent a few minutes ranting to Chris about how I shouldn’t expect any different, and that we should just suck out all my eggs and light them on fire for all the good they do. But, I refused to cry. I refused to wallow. I have a responsibility to this one embryo to give it a fighting chance. Crazier things have happened.
Have any of you read or saw the movie, Divergent? Remember the cute guy who was the main character with Tris?
Whoa. What was I talking about again? Too much hotness.
I was trying to come up with a name for my embryo.
Everyone. Meet Four. Sure he may only be 4 cells, but he’s Bad. Ass. Also, am I the only person who thinks he kind of looks like a butt? I’m sorry, Four. That was mean.
The transfer went smoothly. I remember the embryologist handing him through the window and then nurse telling me, “Ok, we just need to get your embryo from the incubator.”
“He’s in an incubator!?” Pretty sure I squeed at that. I mean, come on. The cuteness.
So I watched them do the transfer and then we chilled there alone for ten minutes. Then it was the recovery room for another 20. Look, I wore my lucky socks.
Then we got to leave and I sprawled out in the back seat of the car while Chris drove us home. I felt like an illegal immigrant huddling under the blanket yelling curses at Chris every time he slammed his breaks on, sending me almost rolling off the seat.
And now I am home. About to eat macaroni and cheese from Noodles and Company. Because Four wants it. Not even an 8-celled embryo yet and already making demands.