...and it's good! Out of the 23 that they plucked, 10 were "immature" (I'm still shocked that I of all people produced anything that was immature! I mean, I'm so mature all the time!). They were in GV stage, or "germinal vesicle" stage. I found some info and neat pictures online here. Sounds like they were about as immature as they could get. Probably putting whoopie cushions on the chairs of the mature eggs.
Anyhow, they ICSI'd the remaining 13 and overnight, 7 of them fertilized! Tomorrow I should find out how many cells each contain (we're keeping fingers and things crossed for grade A,eight-celled embryos!!) and when we need to be back at the hospital on Friday.
As my cousin Emily put it, I'm a mother of 9! A mother of 9 with a slight (ok, "big") case of separation anxiety. I mean, not that I want all seven to be camped out in my uterus right now, or to be the next star of some TLC show about moms with too many damned kids, but those itty-bitty embryo thigies are all alone in an incubator in Chuck's lab. I mean, are they being sung to? Are they warm and cozy? Is Happy getting on Doc's nerves? Is Grumpy flicking Dopey's ears? (And duh, of course I've named them after the Dwarfs. Couldn't think of anything more fitting for seven, tiny things.)
Well, I'm exhausted and still hurt like a sonofabitch from yesterday. With all of the abuse it went through yesterday, I'm not surprised if my cervix is packing up its things and finding another place of residence. Before I nuggle and nap with Benny, I'm going to try to talk myself out of calling Brenda (my hero) and asking how the embryos are doing. They don't call, they don't write...I've got to check on them somehow, you know.