In so many ways it shocks me. I had just undergone surgery to combat my not altogether understood infertility and yet I seemed so calm and matter of fact as though I was writing about the results for someone else to read. (Well now you can.)
IVF: Wednesday, November 20, 2002
The call came in this morning a little past 8:30 am. I was tucking into my bagel and having my first cup of coffee after a long, mostly restful sleep when the phone rang. (Mr. PJ) answered thinking it was one of his clients in the Midwest. “It’s Dr. M’s office…” he shouted down the hall, which snapped me out of my stupor. I hurried to the phone remembering suddenly that it was a “reporting” day.
L, the REI nurse, calmly informed me that out of the nine eggs retrieved only seven were mature enough for attempted fertilization. Of the seven, two had fertilized “normally,” two had fertilized “abnormally” and three were not yet showing any signs of activity — but, she cautioned, it is still early and they may still develop. I inquired about the two abnormal embryos asking what constituted abnormal. She matter of factly explained that they had too much genetic material and therefore were not transferable. (Sigh. Better to know now than to discover a miscarriage later, I thought to myself.) Of the two termed normal, I asked if they looked good — attempting to elicit a more encouraging description. She didn’t take my bait and simply responded, “they fertilized normally.” She then ticked off the medications that I was to begin effective immediately: resume one baby aspirin once a day, two Doxycline (antibiotic) tablets twice a day, four Medrol (steroid) tablets four times a day — both until Friday, and beginning this evening Progesterone suppositories taken three times a day. She noted that my embryo transfer would occur Friday at 12:30 p.m. assuming that the two normal embryos continued to develop. About the three remaining laggards, I observed, “you won’t be calling tomorrow with any news – so Friday is the soonest we’ll know about their progress?”
“Yes,” came her response, “we will not disturb or look at them again until Friday morning.”
Looking at this entry today it’s as if I’m reading someone else’s journal. In one way I’m detached. I think that’s just my defense mechanism preventing me from reliving the memory too viscerally. On the other hand, I feel as if I could hop in the car this Friday and go to hospital for the transfer itself. It would be as easy as waking up from a long sleep — as though five years hadn’t really passed. But they have, and yet while this entry is frozen in time it’s still so fresh, so much a part of my life.