Halloween Magic

Retrieval was Tuesday. Survived despite shaking like a small dog. My anesthesia phobia knows no end. Someday, if you give me enough wine, I may tell you about the bodily function horror that transpired.

But no matter. An impressive-for-age-37 18 eggs were retrieved, and of those 12 decided to try to become humans.

Now we wait. As they mature the team will make a clinical determination about whether they could handle the biopsy and freezer. All I can do is take Crinone (in case we need to pull the plug on screening and transfer instead) and hang out. For the record, with 12 embryos growing no one but me thinks it's even a possibility we won't have some good enough to test. I'm the one who pushed for the progesterone safety net.

Meanwhile, am relishing the victory of my beloved Sox. It doesn't have much to do with infertility, recurrent miscarriage or IVF, and that is one of the best things about it. But it does show that determination, belief in the face of bad odds and even switching up the management can sometimes make a little magic.