Posts Tagged ‘Transfer’


Um, 3 perfect 8 celled embryos implanted, 3 perfect 8 celled embryos to freeze.They kept me lying down for almost an hour afterwards, and doublechecked my Lovenox prescription, since no one seems to know who actually prescribed it.  I have a photo.  3 embryos inside me.  Yes, we’ve been here before, but I’m feeling so damned hopeful this time.  Thinking gestational thoughts from here on out.  Maybe eating ice cream if I warm up at all.  With a pickle on the side.

On the downside (because there always must be a downside, because I am who I am) the dog ate a dvd from the library while we were gone.  Oh yeah, and spread a giant brand new box of pantyliners from the front door, downstairs, into the bedroom.  This after eating the shoes yesterday.  Despite the boy’s soft heart, the dog must start going into the crate when we’re both away.  This is getting too nervewracking – and freaking expensive.  Now I get to watch for sharp little shards of dvd casing to puncture her intestines.  Or rather, I get to watch for the results of same.  

I’d rather be analyzing uterine cramping, thank you very much.  Fortunately, I am woman.  I can multi-task.

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Transfer day IVF #3

Transfer day is here.  I’m excited.  Really, excited, actually.  As far as I’m concerned, this is the best part of IVF.  This is the part that feels like a miracle instead of just a damned inconvenient series of proddings and needle sticks.  It doesn’t hurt.  You get a nifty souvenir US picture (and embryo!) to take home.  There’s a chance that this could be the most important day of my life.  Anything could happen.  Here’s hoping for the best.

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“Best embryos of the day,” according to my doctor.  

2 8-celled grade A’s and a lower grade 4-celled little fella.  I am the proud incubator of grade A embryos.  I am in shock.  

My embryos have never even been up to average, so having high grade 8-celled embryos makes me feel that at least the DHEA grief has been worth it.  Also, while he was tooling around with the ultrasound, he commented on the number of follicles still going in there.  I suspect if I wasn’t such a crappy responder, the DHEA might have boosted my numbers as well as the quality of the little guys.  For some reason, it’s quite reassuring to know that I’m not one of the unlucky ones this trial med. doesn’t work for.  It seems to work so far, at least.  

He also mentioned that my uterus was looking fabulous, given what it went through this summer.  (Actually, he said “beautiful”, but I – and I presume, my uterus – would much rather be fabulous than beautiful.  Wouldn’t you?)

And so we transferred the two grade A 8-celled proto-sprogs, as well as the poorer quality 4-celled little guy.  We wouldn’t have tried to transfer more even if we’d gotten a whole chicken-farm’s worth of eggs, so I’m feeling pleased, all in all.  

And I only have to shoot up with the Lovenox once a day, though my prednisone has been upped to 2ce a day.  Grrr.

And my Beta test is scheduled for December 3, though, if prior experience holds, I’ll know well (or at least really strongly suspect) before that.  

And it’s a day to make stew and lounge about the house, guilt-free.  TIme for some kitchen zen to work off some of this happy energy!

And I’m going to go make the most of that.

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PIO sucks.

…but hubby has gotten really good at giving those big old honkin’ injections.  See?  My last miserable pregnancy had an upside.  It means that he can give IM injections with the best of them and hardly flinch at all.  What a trouper.  I am fortunate, indeed, and very spoiled, since the prospect of ever having to do these on my own just gives me the cold willies.

Heard nothing from the clinic, which means we’re still in the running (ie: not ALL the embryos went belly-up today.)  Which means we’re still going for a noon transfer tomorrow, after which I’ll be taking it easy even though my clinic doesn’t prescribe any bedrest at all.  

As far as the numbers-game goes, no matter what the embryologist says, I imagine we’ll transfer anything that makes it to tomorrow.  We transfered the best three last time and only got one to stick, so I can’t imagine we’ll try for fewer this time.  I can’t help but think that as happy as I was to be carrying a singleton last time, if I’d merely lost a twin, I’d still be 6 months pregnant tonight.  Worst case (and, damn, but it would be worst,) we’d go for a selective reduction.  It’s not like these less-than-stellar embies have a shot at living through cryo, so we’ll give ’em their best chance inside me, I’m thinking.  It goes against my grain to even imagine having to do a reduction, but I also know that I am not physically suited for carrying even twins to term, let alone three or four of ’em in there.  B

So we’ll transfer whatever they’ll let us and pray that the best one gets comfy right away.   

And meanwhile I’ll do my bit by keeping fingers, toes, individual strands of hair – and possibly eyes – crossed for the next two weeks.

More numbers and angst after the procedure tomorrow.

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And I’m more than a little disheartened.  

2 day transfer of 4 embryos.  That’s not great news right there.  But wait!  It gets worse!

The two day transfer is more related to the day of the week than the holiday – which was something of a relief.  I was feeling sort of put-upon that Memorial Day was more important than my transfer, but Mondays are apparently my doctor’s usual day off.  And, as he explained it, his success rates when he’s the one doing the transfering are better than when his partner does it.  Ok.  That sounds fair to me, plus I like and trust my doctor.  But when I asked the embyologist why are we transfering all four, are they not in good shape?  He said that 2 had divided on schedule – little 4-celled bloblets, but the other two were ‘lagging behind’.  And why might that be? I asked.  Answer is:  Good old comes-in-handy advanced maternal age.  Which is also why none of my embryos were classified as “Excellent” or even “good”.  They are average.  “Average, for your age of course, miss.”

Goddamn it all to hell.  

My doctor said that if we were shooting for a blastocyst transfer on day four or five, waiting til we had a better idea if the lagging two would catch up might make sense so we’d have a larger pool of candidates to work from, but since we’re not feeling like gambling quite that much, it’s better to transfer the whole shebang and hope that one of them decides to stick around.  Uterus is better than petri-dish, I guess is the line of thinking.  Can’t hurt, might help.  

But four.  Given that my clinic is noted for, and proud of, their extremely low triplet rate, that means that they really really don’t think there’s a good chance for any of these little guys. 

At the moment, I am kicking myself for allowing myself to be talked into any sort of relationship-preserving delay at all.  I should  have tried to get myself knocked up with donor sperm as soon as my divorce was final when I was still a peach-faced 35.   Fuck, I should have recognized what was happening by the time I turned thirty with the ‘oh, someday we’ll do that, dear,’ lines of bullshit I was fed.  I always meant to be a mother by age 30.  I had a plan to get my buddy to knock me up since we knew he made such pretty babies.  But I thought I had a bit of time, and my late twenties, early thirties were so busy.  My thinking – if thinking it can be called – went like this:  “I’m healthy, in good (if not great) shape.   I’ve got some time.  My mom didn’t enter menopause until her late fifties, and hey, celebrities have babies after 40 all the time”  But it looks like I really don’t have that time.  It sunk in today that none of this might work.  There might, literally, be nothing to be done.  I waited too long, and now I’m looking at a long, solitary life stretching out ahead of me and it terrifies the shit out of me.  

I got weepy at the transfer, which was embarassing as hell.  My doctor reassured me as best he could, but I could also tell he wasn’t thrilled with what we got, either.  And he tried to make me laugh by reminding me that some of this was just the hormones wreaking havoc on my emotions.  It was all I could do not to burst into tears at the thought of all those wasted hormones.  They should have gone to someone who could use them better than my old worn-out body can.  Oi.  Even I know that’s out of hand.  These next few weeks are going to be a good time, let me tell you.  

And before you ask, yes I have considered my options, actually.  They’r e not great.  Adoption is the most  appealing, but between my age, my partner’s age, our unmarried and one-divorce-apiece state, we’re pretty much ineligible to adopt overseas, and domestically, our choices are limited to adopting a special needs kid, or a 12 year old foster-kid who needs a home.  

Which I don’t want.  I want a baby, damnit.  And I want to be with that baby while it grows through toddler-hood and little kid-hood.  I want to be a mommy, not just a mom.  Besides, I work with middleschoolers.  I don’t want to adopt one.   And I don’t want to be a foster-mom.  Nor do I want to take on a special-needs kid by choice.  That might be selfish, but fuck it.  The quest to have a baby at this point in my life is selfish and that’s just how it is.  

So anyway, the transfer went fine.  The doctor gave me a hopeful but sort of sad smile on the way out, told me to “think gestational thoughts.”  Yeah.  Doing that.   “The tomato seed is not an indicator of what kind of plant you’ll get out of it.”  Yeah right.  Whatever.  I liked the “gestational thoughts” concept better.

Ok, deep breath.  It’s not the end of the world.  My lining is measuring a nice plump 11.-something mm.  Which is good.  And the tranfer went without a hitch.  I brought home an US souvenir picture with my four little ‘bubbles’ in it.  Not to mention the bubble-cuddling embryos themselves, as well as the new prescription for something else to stick up into my already crowded girl-goods.  I took a pregnancy test this morning, so I can track the HCG from the trigger shot leaving my system, so that I can then try to take a HPT ahead of my scheduled blood test on June 9, since I know myself well enough to know I wont’ be capable of waiting that long.  But part of me just wanted to see how it would look.  If I was.  Because I’m realizing it’s something I can’t count on ever being able to experience for real.  I sort of wanted to see that mythical ‘two lines on the test’ state.  Just because. 

It’s going to be a long long two weeks.

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