"Your mucous is lovely!"
It's not every day you get a compliment like, "Your mucous is lovely" but being the affirmation-junkie that I am, I'll take it!
That's what one of the two (two!) reproductive endocrinologists (RE) who helped turn frostie into a toastie yesterday told me. He also said I have an ideal uterus, and I'm filing that one away for a day when my self-image is feeling particularly low. "Yah, I may be pudgy and dull today, but at least I have an ideal uterus and lovely mucous."
So yes, everything went extremely well yesterday, and frostie is now officially a toastie, snug in my womb. He/she came out of the five-year deep-freeze extremely well. They look for an embryo to be six to eight cells, and this one was seven cells - bang on average. And they grade them in quality on a scale of one to five, five being the best quality - but, the nurse assured me, they almost never see a grade four or five quality- and frostie was a grade three plus. I am absurdly proud of this, as if I had anything to do with it. I'm as proud as when Tristan passed his first year of swimming lessons, which again, had basically nothing to do with me.
Jojo, I did ask about the placement of the embryo in the uterus (that, and about a hundred other questions - it was like Curious George goes to the Fertility Clinic) and one of the REs said that yes, there is in fact an ideal place, high up in the uterus. A few minutes later, the nurses, REs and lab technicians clustered around the ultrasound monitor gasped appreciatively, in much the same way you ooh and aah over a particularly vivid fireworks display, when the RE skillfully launched the embryo and a small amount of fertility goo into exactly the place the RE had just indicated on the monitor. One of the nurses later said that the fertility goo drifted placidly out of the catheter in the most ideal way, and again I was absurdly proud.
The whole procedure only took 15 or 20 minutes, and then I was free to empty my way, way, WAY overfull bladder. Oh yes, and the RE also complimented me on my bladder capacity. He said, "You must be great on a road trip." Why is it that I attract comedians wherever I go? (Cool aside - you know why they want you to have a full bladder? Because it presses on the normally curved uterus, making it straighten out and providing a much more direct path for the catheter. The RE said they have a statistically improved success rate with a full bladder during transfer. I am endlessly fascinated by this stuff.) I had already gone three times in the half hour leading up to the procedure to let off a bit of pressure, and by the time they had launched toastie out of the catheter and then sent the catheter back to the embryologist to verify that it was empty, I was just about cross-eyed with the need to relieve myself. And let me tell you, no amount of kegels will prepare you for the exercise of trying to empty your bursting-to-capacity bladder as quickly and efficiently as possible while simultaneously contracting your cervix snuggly and tightly closed around a microscopic embryo.
Like a good blogger, I had wanted to bring my camera into the clinic with me. I had visions of a particularly amusing photo taken from my perspective on the table, looking down past my stirruped legs to the accumulated medical personnel at the business end of my anatomy, but the nurse and Beloved disabused me of the idea.
The good news is - I have pictures! The bad news is, Blogger won't let me post them. I'll try to put them up later. Evil, wicked Blogger - how you vex me!
The rest of the day was entirely uneventful, in a mildly hedonistic sort of way. We went to the movie (just average, but I'd happily fork over $10 to watch Johnny Depp read from the telephone directory, so it was a pleasant afternoon) and by coincidence of timing, I had a previously scheduled appointment to get my hair cut yesterday, too. The only thing I lacked was a massage, or maybe a pedicure, to make it the perfect "all about me" day.
But of course, it isn't entirely all about me. For those of you wondering how Beloved is faring through all of this, I have to tell you I've been a little concerned about that myself. He has a few more reservations than me about the whole 'third child' thing, and he didn't seem nearly as invested in the whole idea of frostie as I was - but then, that seems par for the course in many male-female relationships in these types of circumstances. I think it takes a little longer for guys to be able to give themselves over to hope, and a little bit longer for them to internalize a pregnancy, or even a potential pregnancy, as a reality.
Any concerns I might have had about his reaction evaporated last night when he performed what I can only describe as an impromptu interpretive dance of the embryo gaining cells and implanting in the uterine wall. Oh, how I wished I had a camera nearby, because it was a thing of beauty!
It's all good. It's all very, very good! And now, I think I'll consider myself pregnant until I find out otherwise. (You should see the grin on my face!) My blood test is two weeks today, on August 4.
*glances at watch*
*taps watch face*
*glances away*
*looks at watch again*
It's gonna be a long two weeks!
That's what one of the two (two!) reproductive endocrinologists (RE) who helped turn frostie into a toastie yesterday told me. He also said I have an ideal uterus, and I'm filing that one away for a day when my self-image is feeling particularly low. "Yah, I may be pudgy and dull today, but at least I have an ideal uterus and lovely mucous."
So yes, everything went extremely well yesterday, and frostie is now officially a toastie, snug in my womb. He/she came out of the five-year deep-freeze extremely well. They look for an embryo to be six to eight cells, and this one was seven cells - bang on average. And they grade them in quality on a scale of one to five, five being the best quality - but, the nurse assured me, they almost never see a grade four or five quality- and frostie was a grade three plus. I am absurdly proud of this, as if I had anything to do with it. I'm as proud as when Tristan passed his first year of swimming lessons, which again, had basically nothing to do with me.
Jojo, I did ask about the placement of the embryo in the uterus (that, and about a hundred other questions - it was like Curious George goes to the Fertility Clinic) and one of the REs said that yes, there is in fact an ideal place, high up in the uterus. A few minutes later, the nurses, REs and lab technicians clustered around the ultrasound monitor gasped appreciatively, in much the same way you ooh and aah over a particularly vivid fireworks display, when the RE skillfully launched the embryo and a small amount of fertility goo into exactly the place the RE had just indicated on the monitor. One of the nurses later said that the fertility goo drifted placidly out of the catheter in the most ideal way, and again I was absurdly proud.
The whole procedure only took 15 or 20 minutes, and then I was free to empty my way, way, WAY overfull bladder. Oh yes, and the RE also complimented me on my bladder capacity. He said, "You must be great on a road trip." Why is it that I attract comedians wherever I go? (Cool aside - you know why they want you to have a full bladder? Because it presses on the normally curved uterus, making it straighten out and providing a much more direct path for the catheter. The RE said they have a statistically improved success rate with a full bladder during transfer. I am endlessly fascinated by this stuff.) I had already gone three times in the half hour leading up to the procedure to let off a bit of pressure, and by the time they had launched toastie out of the catheter and then sent the catheter back to the embryologist to verify that it was empty, I was just about cross-eyed with the need to relieve myself. And let me tell you, no amount of kegels will prepare you for the exercise of trying to empty your bursting-to-capacity bladder as quickly and efficiently as possible while simultaneously contracting your cervix snuggly and tightly closed around a microscopic embryo.
Like a good blogger, I had wanted to bring my camera into the clinic with me. I had visions of a particularly amusing photo taken from my perspective on the table, looking down past my stirruped legs to the accumulated medical personnel at the business end of my anatomy, but the nurse and Beloved disabused me of the idea.
The good news is - I have pictures! The bad news is, Blogger won't let me post them. I'll try to put them up later. Evil, wicked Blogger - how you vex me!
The rest of the day was entirely uneventful, in a mildly hedonistic sort of way. We went to the movie (just average, but I'd happily fork over $10 to watch Johnny Depp read from the telephone directory, so it was a pleasant afternoon) and by coincidence of timing, I had a previously scheduled appointment to get my hair cut yesterday, too. The only thing I lacked was a massage, or maybe a pedicure, to make it the perfect "all about me" day.
But of course, it isn't entirely all about me. For those of you wondering how Beloved is faring through all of this, I have to tell you I've been a little concerned about that myself. He has a few more reservations than me about the whole 'third child' thing, and he didn't seem nearly as invested in the whole idea of frostie as I was - but then, that seems par for the course in many male-female relationships in these types of circumstances. I think it takes a little longer for guys to be able to give themselves over to hope, and a little bit longer for them to internalize a pregnancy, or even a potential pregnancy, as a reality.
Any concerns I might have had about his reaction evaporated last night when he performed what I can only describe as an impromptu interpretive dance of the embryo gaining cells and implanting in the uterine wall. Oh, how I wished I had a camera nearby, because it was a thing of beauty!
It's all good. It's all very, very good! And now, I think I'll consider myself pregnant until I find out otherwise. (You should see the grin on my face!) My blood test is two weeks today, on August 4.
*glances at watch*
*taps watch face*
*glances away*
*looks at watch again*
It's gonna be a long two weeks!
Labels: Frostie, Infertility
Said DaniGirl at 7:07 a.m. #
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