Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Today's beta: 116. Am told they look for 50 at this point.

The first step of many. But for tonight, let me just say, in a quiet voice in case fate is listening: yay.

Random Thoughts from the Wait

I thought I'd be somehow enlightened. I've been around the block on the two-week wait, the beta wait, the ultrasound wait. All the waiting. I thought I'd be above the drama. But no. I'm plugging all the search strings in: POAS after five-day transfer. Symptoms after five-day transfer. Success rates after FET. Engaging in the Dr. Google madness like some sort of newly initiated infertile.

Also, my in-laws arrive from the other coast tonight. Which means they will be here, in my house, the day of the test. Can someone please tell me how I am supposed to work this? I don't have a great history with them on these issues, what with their stone cold radio silence when we told them, on Mother's Day, that the reason we weren't doing much was that I was recovering from a D&C, from my fourth recent miscarriage. I told my husband that if it is negative, I shall be retiring to our bedroom and a tray of fettuccine alfredo, chocolate cake and a bottle of red wine shall be delivered to my bedside. But I'm not sure that really covers it. And what if it's positive?

Just to add to all the merriment, our cat was playing with a twist tie this morning, and when we turned away and looked back at her, she was licking her chops and the twist tie was MIA. We looked everywhere for it, and I called the vet. They strongly suggested we bring her in. While my husband was  waiting for her to be x-rayed -- and God knows how they got my Woody Allen of a cat to sit for an x-ray -- I came downstairs and saw the twist tie sitting right next to the couch. We paid $250 and they saw food and hairballs on the x-ray.

Meanwhile, I look about four months along. I'm going to assume this is from the massive amounts of progesterone I'm injecting into my body (based on reading of 19.5 on Wednesday -- this clinic checks two days after transfer -- they raised my dose to 1.5 cc), but if it turns out I'm not pregnant, I'm decidedly not amused.

Embryo in. Sanity out.

It happened. On Monday. They wheeled me in, they put my legs in the stirrups made for giants. They put the gorgeous looking embryo in me.

On the way out the door to the clinic, I checked to make sure I had everything with me. Wallet, check. Bottle of water to chug until I'm uncomfortable, check. I asked my husband if anything was missing. Got your vagina? he asked. Check.

I took the valium on the way, washed it down with the big bottle of water. I just figured, no one had told me it would hurt -- it might only help -- and I can't drink wine, so why not?

When I got into the OR and realized the embryologist was in the corner, I suddenly felt this presence in the room. It was sort of like the time I saw President Clinton speak -- when he arrived in the building, you weren't sure how but you just knew he was there, as if the electrons in the room had somehow started combining differently. He's here. That's how I felt about my embryo. It's here. Alive. In this room with me.

On the way out, they handed me a photocopied picture of the embryo along with a curious little slip of paper with my name at the top and the number of embryos thawed (1), transferred (1), and how many remaining in cryostorage (4). I showed my husband. Oh, he said. Our receipt.

Husbands are not allowed into the procedure room for the transfer at this clinic. I was really blindsided by this news upon our arrival, but luckily at that point I was already operating under the influence of Valium, so I was pretty much incapable of being ruffled by anything. Still, it's odd to think that he was not even in the room at the moment when I got pregnant. He said something about telling people we're really talented, with a wink. He's a funny guy.

I wish I could tell you it's been all fun and games since the transfer. I came home, enjoyed a Valium-induced sleep on the couch, and then, as the medication wore off, panic and despair set in. The familiar mental racquetball match of it-definitely-worked, it-definitely-did-not-work has commenced. And will continue until the test, next Wednesday. Have not decided if I will POAS before then.

The problem with the time after transfer is that it's no longer abstract. So much depends on an implanting blastocyst, on two pink lines, on doubling betas. So much.

Here We Go.

Am solidly full of estrogen. Up to 3 mg twice a day. If you see me in real life, and you are a good and decent person just minding your own business, you may want to run the other way. Consider yourself warned.

The transfer has been set and it is just days away. Am suddenly full of superstition and caution. Do not speak of the thing. We will transfer a single euploid embryo into a uterus primed for it, with the perfect cocktail of hormones my body is likely unable to produce when left to its own. I can find ready reason for optimism, data showing odds in line with egg donors, 25-year-olds. I can also find the stories of those who've come before me, did the work then rolled the dice and came up short.

I keep trying to figure out what to think. I keep looking for a mantra I can cling to. A framework for how to be ready for the disappointment, or how to balance realism and joy should it work. I've allowed myself some dreamy moments, daring to imagine that we might get to the other side of this with a real baby. A name popped in my head tonight and a chill of recognition ran through me. Do I allow myself these moments, or do they make more pain in the end? I've been in this game for six years and I still don't know the answer to that question.

Then there are the practical considerations, all the managing of this process, all the making sure nothing is missed. Calling the nurse to make sure TSH is added to my labs. Finding a prenatal vitamin with DHA already built in. Figuring out PIO shots (I used Crinone for my past cycles). Looking into the benefits of bedrest after transfer (apparently in the years since our cycle for H the tide has turned and they now do not recommend it). Trying to prevent regrets.

I asked the doctor this week if they recommend or use Valium during the transfer. My previous clinic did not, though it was an option. I do remember being overwhelmed by the intensity of the transfer -- being in the sterile OR, having a tiny life squirted into you as you try not to cough or pee your full bladder out. And there seems to be a suggestion that a relaxed uterus is optimal. My clinic gave me the option, and I guess my inclination is, sure, anything to escape my brain for a minute or two sounds lovely right now. But I can't seem to find any data showing an impact on outcomes, either way. So, did you or didn't you? Advice welcome.

Also welcome: funny stories. Hollywood gossip. Fashion tips. Your favorite banana bread recipe. A great playlist. Anything, dear readers, anything to keep me from thinking of the thing.

Wanna Be Startin' Something

Something was healthy. Five somethings, to be exact. On ice. Waiting.

So it took 18 eggs to make five healthy potential babies. If you buy into the whole concept here, we basically compacted a year and a half of reproductive effort into a single cycle and took the guaranteeed-fails out of the equation. Which means we may have saved ourselves a whole bunch of pain. Or maybe, with all the sudden possibility, maybe we're creating more pain in the end. Right now there's just no way to know. There's nothing to do but take the hormones and go in there and let them put them in, one at a time, until maybe one of them sticks and stays with us. Nothing to do but power through all the fear.

What am I afraid of?

I'm afraid it won't work. And I'm afraid it might.

I'm afraid I might not be good at letting all of it go, if I need to. And I'm afraid of being pregnant and of all the angst. Afraid I won't be able to stay above the fray, keep my head on straight through all the what ifs. You know.

But there's an available seat at our table and, as long as there's a legitimate shot in the offing, I need to try to fill it. So onward.

I'm on the Estrace. This is a new one for me -- did not take it for the fresh cycles for H. Not particularly enjoying the bloating or the crazy. Hold onto your hat if you're living under my roof right now.

All I have to say is, thank goodness for my girlfriends. Thank goodness for the lovely souls who ask where we're at and then listen to the long answers. Thank goodness for those with me in the trenches who know the shorthand. When I feel myself fast forwarding to worst-case scenarios and drifting to dark places I shouldn't go, I feel you huddling.

Something's Got to Be Good in There. Right?

Pinch me, for they biopsied nine of our embryos for chromosomal screening. Nine. Out of 12. This from doubts we could even make it to day five.

I know, I know. Deep breath. Reality check. We have miles -- miles -- before a real live baby. But tonight we shall celebrate this small victory on the way.

Day 5. Alive.

On Friday, the nurse called me and told me to be on stand-by on Sunday for a possible transfer. This was a little different from their prior assurances that we were almost sure to go forward with the chromosomal screening (PGS) with so many embryos growing. I asked to speak to the doctor, who called me at the end of the day. She said that nothing had changed -- we still had the 12 original embryos growing, and now we also had two additional, late fertilizers growing as well.

I was instantly intrigued. Who were these rogue embryos suddenly fighting to be part of the pack? Would they make it? Could they catch up? How cool would it be to know that your kid was a fighter from the moment of fertilization? Scrappy embryos.

Anyway, she said they wanted me to be ready for a call Sunday morning just in case, for all the reasons we'd discussed before. Which makes me wonder why I had to be the one to advocate for the progesterone, but no matter.

We woke yesterday not knowing if we'd be transferring or waiting. The time change made the wait seem even longer than it was. By the time the phone rang just after 9 a.m., I was pacing the house.

My husband and I had talked about it. We decided the thing we wanted the most was for their recommendation to be very clear. If they were on the fence at all or left it up to us we would probably opt to transfer the one or two best looking day-fivers and not risk the biopsy. But we hoped they'd make the choice easy for us.

And somehow, that's just how it went. The doctor was upbeat. Said we were in a great position with 5-6 embryos ready for immediate biopsy and more possible later yesterday or today. She said there was no question in her mind that we should go forward with the PGS. So that's what we did. We'll have results by later this week.

I'm trying not to get ahead of myself. Five or six embryos undergoing biopsy and now sitting in the freezer do not necessarily get you a baby in the end. But it's a start. It's the start we've been hoping for. I wasn't sure our embryos could ever get us to this position, and now we're here, and now no matter what happens we will know that we had a real shot. We have the numbers we need to be able to say that it was as good a try as we could have hoped for. And I hope that means we get a baby in the end. I hope it does.