So where were we? Oh yeah, we'd gotten our fertilization report and it was good. Jeff and I went to the hospital on Friday, I got to take a happy-fun-sleepy-time pill, THEY PUT A FREAKING CLAMP ON MY FREAKING CERVIX and then placed two embryos (one 8-celled grade A and one 8-celled grade B) near the top of my uterus. Did I mention that THEY PUT A FREAKING CLAMP ON MY FREAKING CERVIX?! Yeah, that was fun.
Because we had 7 that fertilized, I decided to name them after the Seven Dwarfs. And because I'm a Pollyanna-style optimist, I decided that they transfered "Happy". Because Jeff is a Fox News watchin', mechanical engineer, he decided the other one was "Grumpy". I informed him that if we ended up with a colicky child, he would be in charge of it until it decided to stop crying.
Anyhow, here is the first-ever baby picture of my future spawn. Happy is the one on the top left, Grumpy is down on the bottom right.
Friday and Saturday were spent lounging in my pajamas, but by Sunday, I'd gone a little stir crazy. So, my sweet husband asked his parents to watch the kids and took me to see "Love and Other Drugs" and then out for Mexican food afterward. Let me just say that I hope I don't jeopardize my status in the "girl club" by saying that the movie wasn't great. Like, at all. My theory is, the makers of this movie knew that, but decided to cast the very gorgeous (and at times, very nude) Jake Gyllenhaalaaleeyhannnalleenneall and Anne Hathaway.
So here I sit, 4 days past my 3-day transfer and I feel nothing. Well, nothing but a whole lotta tired. I am, however, convinced that I am pregnant. At this point in embryo development, the embryo isn't even an embryo anymore, but a blastocyst. It has already started to hatch out of it's shell and is beginning to attach itself to the uterus. I've provided a diagram of that last step, below:
Ok, I might have substituted the boring, sciency labels for my own. The labels I picked are MUCH easier to pronounce, though. That, and they make about as much sense as the originals. But, if you're reading this and your name is Jeff, you're going to want to know what the boring, original names were, so here you go.
Mandy, one of the awesome IVF nurses that was with us on Friday, said that I could come in for a beta on the 23rd, so rather than spend all of Christmas Eve either getting stuck in the veins with a needle and jumping every time the phone rings, I'm opting to go in on the 23rd. That, and I really don't think what is remaining of my psyche can take any more waiting.
Oh, and if you think I'm even waiting that long for a pregnancy test, you are wrong, my friend. Very wrong. In my posession are 19, very sensitive, hpt strips. They don't detect hCG at 50u, or even a laughable 20u, but 10u. I've heard of women getting positives on as early as 8dp3dt and because I'm more impatient than my children, I'm so planning to POAS.
I'm armed and dangerous, folks!
PS
Jeff, if you're reading this, I would like to say that I am sorry. If I ever promised not to POAS before the 24th, I was most likely under the very strong influence of some pretty hardcore happy drugs. So that makes that promise null and void. And come on, you knew what an impatient girl I was when you met me.
Tired sounds like a very good sign, to me. And itchy palms, apparently; I had those the week before I POAS'd ("Pee On A Stick"'d, that is :D) and found out afterwards that it was a symptom, so look out for those! (And other bizarre ones no one ever told us about, too.)
ReplyDeleteAnd let me just say that labor should be a breeze for you, Ms. Clamp-on-the-cervix. Holy medieval torture, Batman! If you made it through that, the rest of this should be a walk in the park.