It’s a beautiful morning in London. It startlingly feels like spring even though it’s only February.
We slowly make our way towards St. Paul’s cathedral. I promised my grandmother we would go in, so we do, and I even think a little prayer. Neither Jo or myself are religious at all, but on a day like this I feel like we can go with a ‘just in case’, right?
We find the Create clinic (which is just opposite St. Paul’s), and we are checked in quickly. Both of us need to change into gowns, which is a bit like playing dress-up, and we giggle nervously trying to sort out various straps and the plastic bits that go over our feet and heads.
Then the nurse scans my abdomen to check whether my bladder is full enough for the procedure. …and it isn’t!(I’m sorry! I was nervous! I had to have a pee!)
She sends me back to drink more water, so Jo and I sit in the little curtained off area and wait. We take some pictures. We chat. I drink my cups of water.
Back when we heard how many embryos we had, we nicknamed them all. The one they’re transferring today is a 4AB embryo, named ‘Shiva’ by Jo. We ask the nurse whether there will be a chance to get a picture of little Shiva, and she brings it to us, a print-off of this round, cellular blastocyst. It looks nothing like a baby of course, but I love the thought that it might become one some day and showing them the earliest picture ever taken of them * g *
Eventually, I am called back in, scanned again, and my bladder is declared full enough to start.
The doctor who is going to do the procedure is heavily pregnant herself, which is probably a good sign, right? Fertility all around!
I am strapped into the weirdest contraption. I have to place my feet into Velcro ski boots, my legs go in stirrups in the air, and then I lie back onto a bench that is raised up high. To top that off, they roll over a spotlight to light my private parts with a blistering brightness. I don’t think anyone has ever had that good of a look up there!
The doctor starts.
The first thing I can tell is that it HURTS, omg. She’s clearly not the gentle kind. I have to breathe breathe breathe through the pain.
After a few more excruciating moments, the embryo is brought out. They use a catheter of some kind (I honestly can’t tell what exactly they are doing down there over the all-encompassing pain) and our eyes are directed towards the sonogram screen.
We see a white puff – and that was it, our embryo was jetted into my uterus!
It’s over fast. They release me from the torture straps and I can sit up. I don’t know what I expected, but it feels a little anticlimactic. Was that it? Am I actually pregnant now?
After changing back into our normal clothing and a brief list of ‘do’s and don’ts’ from a nurse, we are set free into the world again, both of us a little dazed and confused, two people plus one embryo.
I read somewhere that laughter is supposed too be good for implantation, so after a few hours of rest, we go see an improv show that evening. I try to relax and not to worry about the immensity of what is going on (or not going on) inside of me, even though I’m hopeful…
Come on little blastocyst, you can do it!