Another "day before"

I'm too tired to write much, but I want to be sure to commemorate yet another "day before" by writing on the blog. Tomorrow I go in for the embryo transfer. Our egg donor produced over 20 eggs (last year when we tried IVF I only produced 6); 20 fertilized (for me, only 4, none of which were normal).

Incidentally, when the doctor told me how many eggs she had produced, I burst into tears. He read that as joy for how lucky we were and he gave me a high-five. How could he be so blockish as to think my tears would be joy? I could only produce 6 myself, and none of them supported life. Yet another experience of understanding my own brokenness, my own inferiority.

So another period of waiting begins. I won't get hopeful. I'm not even sure I want to try to feel positive and upbeat "for the sake of the baby," which has always been how I've approached the two week wait.

I've already decided that if this doesn't work, I'm running away and never returning. That's no idle threat. I can do it. I quit my job so technically I have nothing to return to or report to.

My husband and I had a wonderful, intimate conversation last week after a blow up. Since then, we haven't really connected. I know he's very nervous, though, because he went grocery shopping (which he seldom does) and bought me literally 20 bottles of the fizzy fruit drink I've suddenly discovered. It must be hard to be a man in this situation. I really do hold all the cards in my hand, so to speak. All he can do is sit on the sidelines (sorry for the mixed metaphor) and do his version of incubate, which is keep me safe and warm.

I don't feel cheerful and hopeful. I just feel tired and slightly trepidatious, perhaps even scared. My joints ache and I'm exhausted, both of which I'm chalking up to either the progesterone or the Omnitrope or the Estrace or all three.

Well, whatever.