I have the lab results. My beta HCG is 7.

We’ve been down this road before. Last time, we hoped, clinging to a positive… retesting… hoping the levels would rise again, desperately wanting to will our dead embryo back into existence.

This time I won’t do that. I’ve already called my doctor, already been given permission to stop the progesterone, to let my period come. I asked her if I could get drunk with my man tonight and she said yes.

It’s over. We lost. Again.

I will wrap myself in this icy blanket of reality. I will pull it tight around my, letting it’s frost burn through my thin, naked skin.

I don’t feel anything at all.

Tomorrow is beta day. Egg retrieval will have been 15 days before… transfer 13 days before. I don’t have my period… yet, but it’s awfully quiet in there. I don’t ‘feel’ like anything has happened, like anything is different. It doesn’t really seem possible to believe that any of this has worked.

Needless to say, I’m terrified.

I believe there is a great chasm separating me from different family members and friends that haven’t gone through this thing, infertility.

I also believe that there are bridges, that, should they choose to cross over, or only come closer, they can. And if I choose to cross, and come closer to them, give them grace for well meaning but ill informed comments or try to help them see how things really are, I have the choice.

I have been blessed, in real life, these past weeks. I have a family that is very supportive, most of them. I let them know what is going on, and with the exception of my mother, who isn’t speaking to me and couldn’t give a fried egg how retrieval, or transfer went, they’re really, truly there.

But that doesn’t mean that they get it.

It’s a delicate balance, opening this subject to people who haven’t had the experience. Part of it is purely technical, almost pedagogic, like explaining several times that 4 mature eggs is different that 4 embryos, and exactly what that difference is. Or that there isn’t a hospitalization for transfer, it is done rather quickly, the worst part being the cold pinch of the speculum and that the husband and I had lunch with friends afterward.

That part is almost cathartic, impersonal, albeit slightly frustrating at times. (Like when my father called my brother telling him we had four eggs, and my brother thought that meant I was pregnant.) They are well meaning, but I am beginning to feel like a health teacher.

But like I said, I can handle that part, because it is peppered with innocent error, and care. I don’t mind gently correcting them and helping them form a correct idea about the procedure.

What is difficult is the abstract, and the preconceived.

Last night I was on the phone with my father. He asked what the next stage would be.

I explained that I am doing progesterone suppositories, and a HCG injection last Thursday, this Sunday, and next Wednesday, to keep my ovaries a chugging. I told him that supposedly because of the shot, should I do pregnancy pee tests, they will undoubtedly be positive, whether I am pregnant or not, and that I must wait until November 23rd, at which moment I will do a blood test.

He seemed to think that was the goal, the positive test, but I reminded him of last time and explained the concept of doubling betas, and how with infertility and IVF we are never really out of the game until that baby is healthy and breathing, in our arms. And even then…

I explained to him as well the high rate of pregnancy loss, crossing one of those little bridges, trying to help him understand, when my words were sharply cut off -

“You will be alright.”

Silence.

“Dad, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll be alright. If this doesn’t work -”

“YOU will BE ALRIGHT.”

The words choked me. Will I? Will I really be alright?

I softly left my bridge, and returned to my designated side of the chasm.

He looked at me from his side of the divide with love, however, not comprehending. “You will be alright. G-d will not give you more than you can handle.”

I choked on my words. I know he meant well. I know he wanted to comfort me, to help. I know he needs to believe what he is stating with such unweilding conviction.

I just don’t agree with that.

And I’m terrified.

Egg retrieval was two days ago.

Today, we transferred.

One five cell embie (my doc called it an ‘overachiever’) and a two cell (late bloomer?).

No frosties; all of our hope is riding on these tiny cell blobs.

Dig in little ones. (Please.)

We got a call from the lab today.

Two of our four eggies have been fertilized. One day after retrieval, we have a zygote and a two cell embryo.

Tomorrow morning, we will have them both transferred.

Set alarm at 5:45pm.

Shower in Betadine. Ew.

Put on the sexy drawers.

Accompany hubby to lab.

Give paperwork and ID’s to secretary.

Rub eyes in wonder (no coffee… grrrr…) as secretary informs you that the biologist and your doctor would like to do ICSI, since last time results were not that great, with only one embryo.

Rub eyes again, say “sure, whatever, oui oui” and sign paperwork.

Accompany hubby to tiny room with paper on a bed.

Go to bathroom. Wash hands. Wash man-parts.

Return to room.

Wipe hands and man parts with moist towelettes.

Show hubby the hawt drawers & recent brazilian wax. Meow.

Close eyes and pretend doing it this way is normal.

Take sterile cup out of paper bag.

Aim. Fire.

Return spermy cup into paper bag.

Return spermy cup papefr bag to secretary.

Go to car, drive to clinic.

Check in. Change into paper gown that shows your butt off.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Ingest nasty liquid that makes you see pink elephants.

Have your bed wheeled down to the operating room.

Tell your RE she looks cute in her scrubs. (It’s the drugs talking, really.)

Up, on the table.

Wooh, the room begins to spin.

OUT.

Wake up, asking “How many?? How many??” to a recovery room filled with nurses who have no idea what you are talking about.

Wait.

Wait.

Get wheeled back up to room.

Wait.

Wait.

Eat something, (hospital food… gross) just to prove to them you don’t need to throw up.

Wait.

Wait.

Pee.

Wait.

Wait.

“Okay, (4:30pm) you can go now.”

Stop by RE’s secretary.

“How many?? How many??”

The telephone rings.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Mme Fancypants, the doctor was able to retrieve a total of 8 eggs.

Scream “We have WON the LOTTERY PEOPLE!!!!!”

Secretary gives blank stare, gently asks you to calm down, explaining that of the 8 eggs, 4 were mature and ’survived’ through the ICSI manipulation and sperm ingection.

4, you tell yourself, that’s wonderful.

That’s double what we had last IVF.

And they’re all mature. All injected.

4 eggs.

Freck, that’s the most you could have hoped for.

Ride home with hubby.

Tell hubby you’re such a good wife that he’s going to cook dinner.

Hubby orders pizza.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

We will know Wednesday if and how many embryos are kicking.

Last night, at exactly 9pm, I pushed one final needle into my belly and emptied the syringe, triggering my body into ovulation.

Five follicles had grown to maturity Saturday morning when I saw my RE. I closed my eyes and silently hoped that in the hours that followed, the sixth one would have caught up.

Tomorrow is egg retrieval day. I’m going to visit the ER for the fourth time this year, climb into a table, and let myself be sedated into unconsciousness, once again.

I will not know, upon awakening, if the five, or the six, have yielded each one an ovocyte, but before leaving the clinic, in the afternoon, should receive that news. And then come home, and wait, with my man, leaving our precious cargo in the lab.

Sometimes the banal can seem so filled with emotion and meaning. I know that there is a fork in the gray road ahead, that one path will be open, and the other closed, and that the end of this long year will be filled with either joy or heartbreak.

Please let it be joy.

I thought the right one was dead. Two inseminations and one IVF, it’s never given the least bit of hope that it was anything but defunct… finished.

Imagine my surprise, and the surprise of my doctor, during the course of this morning’s ‘wanding’, when five nicely maturing follicles were spotted growing on my right ovary.

Five, count em, and one on the left, which makes a total of six.

I know, that isn’t a lot, compared to some women who make ten, fifteen, or even more follicles, but I’m a slow responder, have little ovarian reserve, and quite frankly, was expecting the worst. Last cycle we had four follies, yielding two eggs and one embryo. If in the six follies we have enough eggies to have two pretty embabies, and I’ll be happy.

I’m not hoping yet, but I do feel a little relief with each hurdle passed.

Egg retrieval is set for Monday.

Tomorrow is my first ultrasound, and first bloodwork, after 8 days of stimming.

I don’t ‘feel’ anything happening, it’s a bit eerie. No churning, no swelling ovaries, just a sore belly, and two black spots, evidence of my nightly injections and the times I hit a vein.

Is anything happening down there?

Oh dildocam, how I long to see thee!

Sunday was my wedding anniversary (6 years – eek, I’m an old hag!) and the Hubs and I had a rather non-eventful day, laying around the house in a zone, since my body decided that 3 am would be a good time to wake up, we are too broke to go away for the weekend, and, uh, there are lots of other things like IVF and having my period and not getting that Brazillian wax (due to said period) that made me think, nah, let’s just put off the party a couple of days.

We did however, do brunch before brushing our teeth and exchange gifts, at which moment I got a ring I have been drooling over and shamelessly hinting à la “That’s what I want you to buy me for our wedding anniversays, got it?” I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring (fat hands, eergh!! it doesn’t fit anymore) and I don’t have the heart to get it enlarged, since that it kind of akin to admitting that I will always have fat hands, from this day forth, and oh, did I tell you I’ve actually been jogging? For about 2 months now. Yeah, for real. But my hands are still fat.

So you can imagine the SURPRISE when I opened the tiny box, and THERE IT WAS, the ring I’ve been brainwashing him to buy me perfect gift from an, oh, so thoughtful man.

I bought him a bottle of cologne so he doesn’t smell funny.

I also celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary by stopping the BCP’s and using my prescription tampons, prescribed to me by my lovely RE. I still don’t know exactly what they’re for, except that it says ‘probiotic’ on the tiny can, that they have progesterone in them (interesting) and that you can get them without a prescription from Mexico if you want to be as priveledged as I seem to be.

Other than that, I also celebrated my wedding anniversary by recieving an unsolicited email from my mommie telling me in about 10 000 words what en evil person and terrible daughter I am. I retaliated by googling Amazon and ordering this book.

((insert awkward subject change here))

In other news, I start my stims on Wednesday, and have once again, neither hope nor ambition for this cycle, at least for the time being. Let it be what it is but I guess I just feel like my little heart can only take so much. So I’m trying not to hope, or to think about it. We’ll see how easy that proves to be once the needles come out.

Oh and one last thing, I am going back to school. It’s official, I’ve registered and will be doing 4 classes by coorespondance this year. So I am eagerly awating my acceptance package (please don’t regect me!!!!) and my coursework. Sadly I won’t be going to the school I spoke about, since it is WAY too expensive, and I am ineligable for any aid, but we’ll see how things work out in the future. For the moment I’m taking some general classes and then next year should I continue, I’ll have to choose a field of study. I’ve got some ideas rolling around in my mind but we’ll just see what happens between now and then.