Last Friday, they found eighteen follicles in Stephanie’s ovaries. A few days ago, at the retrieval, they found eleven eggs. And today, they reported to us that there were a total of seven embryos sitting in that lab we’ve spent so much time in lately. The numbers are dwindling, but that’s to be expected. And you could look at it negatively, or you could look at it positively. And, for once in my life, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from negativity.
Let’s look at it this way: 61% of the follicles they saw on Friday ended up yielding eggs; 63% of the eggs they retrieved and fertilized ended up maturing into embryos; and now all we need is 50% of the two embryos they transfer back into her to implant and turn into babies. With our percentages going up, instead of down, is there any reason to suspect we won’t find success?
Yes, I know my logic is probably flawed. But let me be delusional, alright? It’s better, and I would wager it’s more amusing, than seeing me depressed.
The ear pain is finally subsiding, which means I should be able to hear everything the nurses and doctors say tomorrow at the embryo transfer. We’ll arrive there just before nine o’clock in the morning, they’ll fill up Stef’s bladder for a couple of reasons I don’t clearly remember, and then they’ll slip the two best-looking embryos back into the womb. It’s amazing to think we’re so close.
And it’s really nice to think that there won’t be any fertility-related stuff to worry about for two weeks. Once the embryos are in there, there’s nothing more we can do. During the fourteen days that will follow the transfer procedure, which many couples undergoing infertility treatments refer to as the horrible two week wait, I’ll have plenty of time to finish up my degree work, hang out with my literary pals, and just generally be merry. I’ll be too busy to worry. At least that’s the plan.
Tomorrow (or, today, by the time some of you are reading this) is the day. Wow.