So, here we are. Six years later. 2 failed IUI’s and pumped full of hormone medication. (It’s no wonder that I’m crazy!). I’ve given myself at least a hundred shots! Or my husband has. He has watched me quietly suffer all these years, and now he has been asked to give me shots, every morning and every night, and some days 3 times. His hand shakes and I can tell that he is nervous. But he has to do it, for at least a month. Pill, shot, two more pills, two more shots. Everyday.
Retrieval Day! The nurses are optimistic. I have 22 follicles! I count backwards from 10, 9, 8… I fall asleep. Only now, when I wake up, the optimism is forced. Of the 22, only 4 of the follicles had eggs.
So, there we were; 4 eggs.
The call comes the next morning. THREE of the four fertilized. Now they just need to make it on their own for 2 more days!
The day has come. Transfer Day! We step out of the elevator. The doctor is waiting for us. All 3 made it! This is it. They have taken everything out of me, physically and emotionally, and the day is finally here. The doctor asks my husband to come in to the lab. “Is this your name?” “Would you like to see your embryos?” I lie awake, squeezing my husband’s hand, fighting back tears. They transfer 2 of our embryos back into my body and I pray that all of my natural woman parts work like they’re supposed to! I lay there.