The boys have headed to church for the awards' banquet. Blake and Jeffrey played basketball, and tonight they have their awards' ceremony. I am taking full advantage of the 48 hours-post-transfer modified bed rest. I did not realize how tired I was - and how emotionally exhausted over this whole thing I have been.
So indulge me while I unpack my emotions and lay them out in print. It helps me sort them, organize them, analyze them - decide which ones are healthy and which ones needs to be tossed. Emotions are fickle - and I am reminded by scripture that my heart needs to be guarded - and my heart will lie to me. So, here it goes.
First of all the transfer yesterday was perfect. It was the perfect ending to 12 years of infertility. 12 years of treatments - of not having babies, having babies, losing a baby, having a baby with special needs. It was an ending and a beginning all rolled into one.
I had not realized how having that one lone embryo sitting at the lab all these years had weighed on us. Unfinished business. Something we had created - but had yet to take responsibiity for. (except paying almost $5000 over the past years to store it). Lingering hope of one more baby - lingering anxiety of one more baby. A lot seemed to be at that lab. We got an early morning transfer appointment. We had to be there at 7:30 am. We had been warned that the embryo may not survive the thaw. With a later appointment, they would have time to call us and tell us it was over - to not come in. But we decided Friday that we would go in faith. We would go with the hope of survivial. So we went.
We did not talk much on the car ride over. We did stop for coffee. There was little traffic and the city was still sleepy. We left our children - all snuggly and sleepy in their beds. Jeffrey and Andrew were in our big bed, and Jeff said, "yeah, I would take another one." As we drove to the surgery center, Jeff said, "we're coming to get you, baby, you don't need to wait anymore." Ah, a deep breath. That is what it has felt like - like we have left someone behind - forgotten to pick a kid up from school (have done that) or left one in the church nursery too long (have done that too). All the waiting - almost 8 years now - and it was finally going to be over.
On the driver over, I glance at the clock - and it is 7:13. I pray for the embryo survival. Survive. Survive. Let us at least transfer it. We arrive and pray together in the parking lot. I don't have words, so Jeff prays over me. God, we want what You want.
We get there and are ushered back to holding. I gown up - complete with the socks and hair net. I crawl onto the gurney and have to admit my weight to the nurse. (don't even ask). I realize I still have my underwear on - and the nurses laugh and tell me that THAT might be my infertility problem! The bundle me up with heated blankets (the best part of any medical procedure) and we wait for the doctor to come visit.
The doctor comes. She is new and I don't know her. She is young. Sweet. Nice bed-side manner. Do we have any questions? I feel like shouting - DID IT THAW?? And she tells us it thawed beautifully - it was frozen at 7 cells. 6 cells thawed and survived. They use a microscope to look at it and through it. They have a picture of it that she hands me. It is time-stamped. 7:13 am.
They take us back to the procedure room. Jeff and I go separately - since he is in street clothes and not sterile garb. We meet in the procedure room and the lights are dim. They get me into position and they turn on beautiful music. The embryologist joins us. Her name is Laura and she has been with us for our previous cycles. She is the one who froze this embryo. She tells us that she remembers us and she recognizes her handwriting on the straw the embryo was frozen in. It makes me feel better to have someone familiar in the room.
So there we are - me, Jeff, the doctor, the nurse, the sonogram tech and the embryologist. It is cool because you can watch what they are doing on the sonogram screen (new technology since the last time we were here). The doctor gets the catheter in place and they wait for the pain to stop. Jeff holds my hand. We stare at the screen. The doctor tells us that she is going to inject the embryo into my uterus - and to watch - as it comes out of the catheter, we see a flash of light - like a little star that twinkled quickly on the screen. Tears are running down my face. Jeff is brushing back my hair. And just like that, we are done.
Done. Finally done. I quietly pray for God to do His thing. I don't even know what His thing is. He alone is the giver of life. We have done our part. We have honored the life or the potential for life that we have created. The rest is up to Him.
The sense of relief I have is over-whelming. We get dressed and come home. I curl into my bed and the valium they have given me earlier that day takes over. I sleep for 4 hours straight - till after 1:00 in the afternoon. It was a glorius nap.
So, the big question is - DID IT WORK? I have no idea. I honestly think it just might have. Jeff thinks it did. Time will tell. And so now we wait. My pregnancy test is May 14th. The temptation to do a home pregnancy test next weekend may get the better of me. I don't know.
What I do know is that I am glad it is done. It is over, finished. We are pregnant or we are not pregnant. But that is not up to me. It is out of my hands, and certainly out of my control. So I have rested. I was asleep by 10:00 last night. I took a nap today. They have me on progesterone support, so I alreay feel pregnant (regardless of if I am or am not). That is what makes the next two weeks difficult. The hormones are surging for sure.
It is either an end to us being a family of 6 - or it is the end of our child-bearing stage of life. It is either the beginning of us becoming a family of 7 - or the beginning of us becoming a family of "big kids" with no babies around any more. So I walk in the confidence that we have done our part. Now God gets to do his.
The Lord gives. The Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
