Saturday, June 14, 2008

in which there were baby photos

As of this moment, I guess I'm technically speaking, pregnant.

Two "excellent" quality, grade 4 embryos were transferred yesterday morning, and once again the care of the staff working behind the scenes almost brought me to tears.

It's funny because these people are primarily scientists, while the Front Of Store people are the customer service reps, so why in hell are the science heads so fucking warm and compassionate and connected, and the latter such a bunch of hos'?

Air question. Ignore.

I got to stand around in a hospital gown, wearing booties and hanging onto a brown paper bag that held my clothes (ie my underpants were in the BAG while I wandered here and there and made small talk NOT COOL)(well, rather cool, and breezy, and not in a good way) while waiting for the nurse, Jane, the same one from the egg retrieval to come back with the laboratory team.

I swear, if I was so inclined, I love that chick so much I'd start dating her with a view to marriage. But I'm not so I'll just love her from afar and appreciate the LIVING SHIT out of her stand out compassion and humor. All those other bitches can go get fucked. The end. Of that story, not this one.


She came back solo and we ended up standing around for a while, me with no freakin' underwear on fuh gawds ache, and her just shooting the breeze with me vis a vis...I have no idea. My brain was on other things like, oh, I don't know, MY EMBRYOS. Of which there were two EXCELLENT quality ones, did I mention?

Shortly thereafter some twelve year old kid ducked in to drop an esky off before ducking quickly out again. "That was the embryologist" said Jane and I said "Oh my goodness, is that my embryos?". "Well, it's not a six pack of beer" she replied. HA. Which was a pity, because I needed one.

When she handed me the consent form and requested that I, Anna Bee, do want to transfer two (2) embryos, I....kind of balked. "Um, I know I TOTALLY overthought the numbers and percentages and whatnot to come up with the number two, but why exactly am I going with that?", and Jane told me to talk to the twelve year old, he knew this embryonic shit and would reiterate all the damn facts and give me his opinion. Then, as if by magic, the twelve year old returned and introduced himself and MY GOD, what a LOVELY prepubescent boy he was. So kind and sweet and again, so NOT like the clusterfuck masquerading as human beings out front of this store. Then the guy doing the embryo transfer rolled in too, and after introducing himself and shaking my hand (with his lovely soft ones), he asked Embryo Boy how the babies were doing.




They were all so freaking compassionate and nice and sympathetic to what was really about to happen here that I had to fight to not explode, what with all the free love on offer in this room.

Then the experts explained that transferring two embryos carries only a twenty percent chance of twins, and that a pregnancy at all weighs in at ten percent. Add two, divide by the year I was born (which is the same archaic year Transfer Guy was born. How much do I LOVE that he noted this as a good omen? THIS MUCH!!) equals *bam* only a two percent chance of twins. Additionally, added Embryo Boy, transferring the two increases conception rates. Additionally part deux, he continued, with embryos as excellent as mine that the ENTIRE hospital are calling them Bill and Ted (which may or may not be an observation involving some or a lot of artistic license), it would be a shame to risk one by freezing and either losing it then, or losing it or reducing its awesomeness on the thaw.

So yes. Two.

Specifically, these ones.

Their image flashed across the screen for literally two seconds ("embryos don't like ambient temperatures") and I was waiting with my camera, flat on my back, legs in the whatnots, and with Transfer Guy seated at the action end of things. Which involved a surgical drape exposing ONLY the action part of things. How GORGEOUS did I feel? NOT VERY.

I'm going to blame nerves but I even explained why I wasn't using a flash ("I can bring the image up with Photoshop but taking out a flash flare?" I AM SUCH A NERD), and then there they were, The Babies, and I AM such a nerd because I made comment that goodness me, they look JUST LIKE Daniel did at the same age.

Hilarity ensued, and then the embryos were sucked into a tube, delicated handed over from Embryo Boy to Transfer Guy, and the whole procedure was explained to me real time as it went live. "I'm just introducing the whatsit now, I'm making sure it's in position, it is, I'm transferring your embryos now" which if you know me AT ALL, you'll know that I love this kind of interaction. It involves me, and if it involves me, I want to be involved. Capiche?

Then the tubey thing was examined under the microscope to see if the embryos had, indeed, been transfered. They had, the drape was whisked away at the same time a more modest sheet was hurled over my girl bits, and before you know it I was standing upright and wondering if I should instead be hanging upside down to increase my chances.

Answer? No. Thank goodness.

Both EB and TG wished me their most sincere luck, and TG shook my hand TWICE before leaving. "There's no reason this won't work.", he said. "Good luck".

How much do you want to cry with happyjoy emotion right now??

Then within minutes it was all over. we were all out the room, and I was dressed again. When I threw my hospital gown in the laundry hamper, I saw the others' surgical gowns and the drapes and whatnot in there too, and it was all rather symbolic. Don't ask me why or how, it just was.

As was the Friday the Thirteenth transfer. How AWESOME is that?

Then I had a shot of progesterone in my ass, and a jar full of progesterone pessaries in my bag for the seven days after this bigassed shot wears off, and a date to come back on July the first to confirm my pregnancy.

Because this can happen. I AM pregnant right now, so I could be pregnant in a little over two weeks too.

My embryos are four days old today, and hopefully are still happily dividing because until they reach blastocyte status in a day or two, will be bouncing around in my uterus. It's only when they're six days old or thereabouts that they can implant.

Which is....scary, but reassuring. But more scary, I think.

I hope so much that they're still alive, then think that they grew so well in the laboratory that, seeings as how embryos do better inside the womb, they MUST still be there, fighting to become whoever it is their genetic code has already mapped them out to be.


In other baby news, Daniel and I are going to a birthday party in about an hour, and while I've been sitting here ignoring HIM in favor of YOU, Daniel's been drawing.

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