My cool: lost.

Today started like any normal day. Well, any normal day in the twilight zone which is fertility treatment, anyway. I got up, had breakfast, pulled out a big fat hypodermic, pulled a dose of protesterone into it, asked my dh sweetly to stick it into my butt, kissed him goodbye, and then went to work. You know, the usual.

The clinic was supposed to phone at about 10 am to let me know the time of the transfer tomorrow (assuming that it will be a 3dt). So, I sneakily arranged to be out of the office running an errand at 10, so I could speak freely without worrying that the thin walls would allow someone to hear me discussing e.g. sperm, fertilization, or embryos. (I am "out of the closet" as infertile everywhere but at work. I actually think that they'd be sympathetic, but I'm a little leery about letting my boss of only a few months know that I'm actively trying to get knocked up.) I managed to dawdle outside until 10:30, but still no call, so I reluctantly went back to work to stew in my office. By 11:30, there was still no word, so I phoned the doctor. She wasn't in the office, but her nurse took a message, and said that she'd phone back around 12:30.

By 1:30, I was on the verge of stone cold panic. Somehow I convinced myself that she was putting off phoning me because she didn't want to break the bad news that the embryos had all died (or none had fertilized in the first place). I tried to remind myself that the nurse that told me that someone would phone at 10 am had probably not thought about the fact that most of the clinic staff can't communicate with me. So, while patients might normally be phoned at 10 am, I get special treatment from my lovely English-speaking doc, so the normal rules don't necessarily apply to me. However, my own pessimistic retort was that if that was the case, they'd probably forgotten about me entirely, and would never phone. I promised myself that I wouldn't phone the doctor until 3, but by about 1:50, I started hyperventilating.

So, at 2, I cracked, and phoned. The doctor answered, but then immediately put me on hold. I was seeing stars, and my whole life was rushing before my eyes. I was sure that she was tryinig to find the right words to tell me that my embryos had died, and that there was no hope that I'd ever be successful. Ever. I was outside (on the second conveniently manufactured errand of the day), and had to quickly find a bench to sit down before I fell over. Then the doc came on and said "here, I have your report", and went on to tell me that of the 9 eggs, seven had fertilized ("half" on their own, and "half" with ICSI), that the fertilization had looked normal, and that we have two very good embryos, and several "so-so" embryos. She said "they're not great, but they're not bad. Maybe a little better than average".

Better than average! I can live with "a little better than average". Heck, given my mental state five minutes before, "so-so" sounded positively beautiful.

Then she told me that transfer is tomorrow, and that I'll have to stay for at least three hours after the transfer to relax. During this time, they'll feed me lunch, and massage my feet! Yes, at my no-frills clinic, I have suddenly found a huge frill. And this foot massage is FREE! (with purchase of one complete IVF cycle). As it turns out, membership has its privelages.

P.S. Thanks for your kind words about my dad.