Embryo Transfer Story – Part Two

August 18th, 2009

If you missed it – here is Embryo Transfer – Part One.

I woke the morning of the transfer a big ball of nerves – on top of still being a big ball of miserable sick and pain. What a day! You’re supposed to be sick AFTER you get knocked up – not going into it! I mean, who wakes up and says “I’ll be pregnant by lunch.”?

I was given instructions to drink 24oz. of water to fill my bladder and take 600mg ibuprofen before the procedure. My bladder is the size of a jelly bean, so I knew I was going to be in agony. I started chugging and we drove to the clinic, to check-in at the surgery center.

So we checked in with my bladder filling by the minute, and no relief in sight. Then waited. We waited in the room for the waiting for what seemed like a millenia. I could feel each second ticking by. Ticking toward this new life and ticking away from the one I know and love.

Finally our name was called and we were taken back to a tiny little room. As soon as the nurse closed the door behind us I started sobbing. How were we finally standing in this room? The room where babies are made! There were no candles or rose petals. Only spotlights and speculums. Nothing too romantic about it, but oddly so in its own way.

Someone came in from the lab to confirm we were who we said we were. She asked if I was OK and I told her it was entirely possible that I was going to pee on the table. Wrapped in nothing more than a tiny sheet around my waist, I scurried down the hall to the bathroom where I was told I could let just a little go. I scurried back to find Dr. T standing in the room with Shelton. He explained what was going to happen and then fired up the ultrasound machine. He said my bladder was very full and told me I could let half go. He said he wasn’t sure how I’d know where half was, but I assured him I’d make it happen. So again, wrapped in my tiny, thin sheet, I scurried to the bathroom and scurried right back.

Another of the clinic’s doctors joined us, as did a nurse and the person from the lab, the andrologist. Shelton sat near my head and we held hands the entire time, sharing our secret double-squeeze several times throughout the procedure. A speculum was inserted and then a catheter was placed near the top of my uterus, or the entry, somewhere in there. The entire time the second doctor was doing an ultrasound so they could watch what was going on inside. When everything was in place, the andrologist brought in another catheter with the two embryos inside and Dr. T delivered them to my uterus. And in a moment, I had two embryos in my uterus.

Shelton and I (and ten other people) had made babies, and they were now living inside of my body.

I stayed on the table for about ten minutes; concerned less with how long I should stay flat and more with WHEN CAN I PEE ALREADY?! When I was completely certain I was going to pee in that room, I got up and went to the bathroom. And I tell you, it was like the relief you can only experience when you’ve been trapped in the car on a road trip for 50 miles and finally found a rest stop and you ran with your legs pressed together and finally let it go. Ahhhh.

Before we left, we were given a 4×6 photo, with two embryos in the center. Our first baby picture. (How many of you “normal” people have a baby picture this early? None! Nanny boo boo!) I think it might be the most beautiful photo of two sets of eight circles I’ve ever seen. I told Shelton I think they look like me. That picture is now hanging on my refrigerator, where very soon, I hope pictures of giggles and grins will join it.

The rest of the day we took it easy. Naps and watching movies. No water skiing, per the doctor’s orders. No tennis, per papa’s orders. And a lot of new glances at one another. For all intents and purposes, on August 5, for the first time in my life, I was pregnant. But I couldn’t say it. I just kept saying the embryos are inside, we’re going to have a baby. Cautiously optimistic, cautiously celebrating. More hopeful than I’ve ever been.

Elvis may be in the building.