Holding My Breath
I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. A lot has happened, and I’ve just been trying to take it one step at a time.
Turned out that of our 8 embryos, only one made it to blast. I was pretty upset. Four of those were the best looking day 3 embryos we’d ever had–I was sure we’d get at least three. We biopsied the two blasts we already had and the additional one. The wait was excruciating. Hubs and I started talking about adoption and donor eggs. If none were genetically viable, we were ready to move on. We were surprised and delighted to hear that two were chromosomally normal! (The third was trisomy 19). We set the date to transfer both of them.
We headed to Denver the first week of February for the transfer. I was a nervous/excited wreck. It was great to know that I could make a couple of genetically viable blasts (even though it took two retrievals and nearly 50 eggs), but would they implant? Could I support a pregnancy? We transferred the embryos on 2/4 and I settled in for two days of bed rest with a stack of magazines and an iPod full of guided meditation.
24 hours after transfer I felt it. At least I thought I did. I had a cramp in my uterus and my breasts started to get sore. I was 90 percent sure I was pregnant.
Which didn’t stop me from obsessing over the next 9 days.
My first beta was yesterday: 337.
I was thrilled, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. For about an hour. Then I started freaking out. My progesterone had plummeted (from 50 before transfer to 8.6). This is right where I was a year and a half ago: when my second beta showed that something was wrong.
Now, to be fair, those were different circumstances. The embryos hadn’t been genetically tested. My uterus and my left fallopian tube were full of scar tissue (though we didn’t know it at the time), and our poor little guy was ectopic. And my beta was only 50. But I know I won’t breathe again until I get good news tomorrow.
God, please let us get good news tomorrow. Please let this be our baby. (Babies??)