<Written last week, sort of … >
It's Saturday! A glorious, first-of-May, Spring has finally arrived kind of day. After a grueling April, May is welcome.
Bama and I scooted out the door early today to give Mister some quiet time to work. We've had days interrupted by doctor's appointments, colds, you name it.
Our May began with a transfer of embryos and the freezing of two more. What began as 17 whittled down to five viable, three we transferred, and two for the future. Next comes the waiting game. Have I said this before? That when an embryo is transferred, the automatic thought is, oh! I'm pregnant. When really, you're not. You have an embryo trying to do its thing: dig into the uterine wall, split, split, split, grow, grow, grow. Lots can happen. Nothing can happen. So we wait for the first test (a week after transfer) and if positive, the second test. If positive, we wait for the six week ultrasound. We wait for the 12 week CVS test. Then we tell everyone we're pregnant.
Or we tell you we're not.
I wish I could say I'm handling all this gracefully, but I'm not. The drugs made me emotional (more emotional) and more likely to flair up or break down. My belly swelled and ached. The shots hurt, even though Mister's adept at giving them, three a night is a drain. Now that we're in the wait and see game, it's a different kind of strain. Trying to be hopeful, but not too. Trying to be realistic, but not too.
In the meantime, Bama came down with a killer cold that presented as a fever, ear infection, sore throat. A week later, she was covered in hives, possibly an allergic reaction to amoxicillin. Off amoxicillin. The next day, the fever is back, or new fever has come, or something. Croupy cough, strider. We go to emergency in the middle of the night for cool mist and steroids.
And our girl, who loves baths, water, and all things food suddenly shrieks at the tub, says no to water, and eats a cracker. She's lost a pound or two.