The nurse I spoke to didn’t know the quality of the embryo. She just said, “Be here tomorrow at 11:30am unless we call you and tell you otherwise.” And I knew what that meant. It meant that calling me and telling me otherwise would mean that there were no embryos left to transfer. For the remainder of that day and the next morning, I hoped that my cell phone wouldn’t ring. This is the exact opposite of how I was when I was single but obviously, things were different then.
When Monday morning arrived, we headed to the clinic and despite the fact that I hadn’t received any calls to the contrary; I was still terrified that more bad news was to come. When I spoke to my parents on Saturday night to bring them up to speed, my dad said, “You really can’t catch a break, can you?” I know he said this out of frustration for me, which I appreciate but that sentence has echoed in my head over and over ever since he said it. Probably because it feels that way: I can’t seem to catch a break and when I do, it feels like it just prolongs the torment.
Ummmm, yeah. That would be nice, wouldn't it? If only one of us could make that actually happen.