Rule of three

I could be pregnant right now, as I sit here typing these words.

But I won’t know for sure until 13 more days have passed.

We went to Brisbane yesterday for a frozen embryo transfer (FET). It happened just before 12.30pm.

They thawed three embryos.
Earlier, we happened to randomly choose locker three to secure our stuff while we changed into hospital theatre garb, and we were in hospital theatre three.
Later that night when we went out for dinner, our table number was 133 and our son is 3. He often notices it on street signs or on TV and will proclaim it is “his” number.

Just sayin’.

And you know the other completely freaky thing? The transfer that resulted in our son happened on June 2 also. The very same date. We had no idea until T looked in her phone calendar last night.

One of the embryos didn’t survive the thaw, the other two did.

One performed ok, but the clear “leading embryo” had divided into eight cells and was a Grade 4, which the scientist told us was above average.

Five minutes later when he came in with the long white syringey thing containing the embryo, he said it had divided into another cell just that morning...so it is very strong.

As for the remaining embryo, I will ring on Monday to see if it will survive another freeze, as they like to wait until about day five before making that call.

The mood was quite jovial in the theatre, with many a joke about the speculum, Noosa, car parks and idiot former patients our doctor had had.

And if you can’t laugh about a speculum, what can you laugh at?

In a few minutes it was done, and the scientist’s voice through the theatre intercom signalled the end of the procedure: “Catheter is clear”.

Well I suppose you wouldn’t want to hop down and leave without some check that the minuscule embryo had in fact been ejected from the syringe to its womby home.

My head is certainly spinning to be back in this position again, shouldering the burden of losing our baby last year.

I wish I had a camera inside me so I could monitor it and see what it’s doing. That is reality TV I would gladly watch! 24 hours. A day.

But I am excited. I noticed yesterday that I often absent-mindedly started speeding while on the highway to our appointment.

I am taking progesterone pessaries, one at night, and will most likely go straight for a blood test in a fortnight, as the progesterone can confuse the home pregnancy test kits and I really don’t want to have my hopes unfairly raised!

In the meantime, it’s no coffee, alcohol, sushi, soft cheese, barbecued chicken and all that other good stuff.

It’s suddenly remembering the whole baby phase that toddler-hood evaporates from memory...the nappies, sterilising bottles, smashed food, lack of sleep, injections, crawling and tiny humans that cannot talk to you. Holy shit!

While we wait.

God I hope this one sticks.