Transfer Day {Part II}

Thursday, 1-28-10 (Day 30)

Dexamethasone (.75mg, oral pill): Starbucks and I are good again, because I finally found something I can have that doesn't make me feel guilty one little bit.

A sugar free, caffeine free passion fruit ice tea.

Now only if they could make it organic.

Ciprofloxacin (500mg, oral pill): Last one.

Dostinex (.5mg, oral pill): Second to last one.

PIO (1ml, IM injection): Tonight, I gladly excepted this injection, so much so that I almost opted to get shot twice just to make up for the skipped shot last Tuesday.

Egg Transfer: After packing our bags and heading down to my in-laws late last night to be closer to the clinic for this mornings possible transfer, the sheer panic and fear of loosing our remaining embryos resulting in a canceled cycle began to slowly diminish.

God, I trust you.

The more I contemplated yesterdays events, complete with the surprising news of three struggling life's still growing in a petri dish, the more I began to find peace in remembering that God is in control.

I knew this all along, but I finally began to really trust it.

And as we woke up early to make the hour long drive to Sacramento, I still felt a slight pang anxiety every time I caught a glance at my phone, mentally willing it not to ring and bring us news that none of our babies made it through the night and our transfer was off.

God, I trust you.

As we arrived at the clinic and opened the doors, a rush of peace came over me. And then as we sat down in the waiting room and waited to hear our fate, Dr. Greene himself came out to greet us and assure us that we still had two beautiful expanded blasts ready to transfer; they would have called first thing this morning, but they didn't want me to see them on the caller ID, think the worst and fall into cardiac arrest, so they decided to wait until we arrived.

I love that they know me so well.

We were then taken into his office and shown the pictures of our precious little ones, and reassured that although they were graded at a three, that doesn't mean they are hopeless. It just means they wouldn't be freezable, because only the highest grades are frozen as they are the most capable of surviving the stressful freeze and thaw process, but they were still miraculous.

Slow growing and fragmented, but miraculous fighters nonetheless.

And as we watched the Dr. and his team place our babies inside of my uterus on the fuzzy black screen, the past few days flashed through my head, playing like an old black and white film that only I could see.

I watched the follicles dance on the ultrasound screen, and felt the disappointment of an unchanged response, followed by the pride of being told we should expect around fifteen good eggs. Then I was in the recovering room, upset and crazed by a low number of the five thought-to-be-mature-follicles, followed by the gratitude of finding that in fact nine had been mature. And then I was at my desk at work, receiving the call that eight had fertilized, but the majority of our embryos were low celled, low grade, and not showing appreciable change even after day four, followed by the sense of hope that came with knowing on day five that we may still have a chance at transfer.

God, I trust you.

And then I was back in the room, laying on the sterile table once again with my husband by my side, watching conception take place on a gritty screen and being told that as of right now, we're pregnant with two flashing white spheres.

The most beautiful flashing white blurs I've ever seen, ever.

And so begins the week long wait to see what God has in store for us. By this time next Friday, we'll know if He has chosen us to carry two of His littlest angels and raise them here on this earth, or if He's decided to take them back to His Heavenly home to join our other embryos that were just too beautiful for this earth.

God, I trust you.

"Sometimes when we're waiting for God to speak, He's waiting for us to listen."

-Martha Bolton