what comes next

I'm up extra early this morning because it's Day One of the dreaded progesterone-in-oil shots.  The husband has to do these.  As a wife, it's sweet to see how worried he is about causing me pain; as the recipient of the shot, it's a little worrying to know that the person administering it is pretty freaked out about what he's doing.  But he does well.  To my surprise, the Big Ass needle that comes with that shot doesn't hurt at all.  My left bum cheek isn't too happy this morning -  no part of my body is happy about being up at 6:20am, much less getting speared with a needle shortly afterward - but we did some massage of the spot and then heating pad time following, which I hear is important to help the medication spread well.

So, now we wait for the big call: this afternoon's fertilization report.  Because we're doing ICSI (meaning that the sperm will be individually injected into each egg), each will technically fertilize, but may or may not grow well.  I'm nervous.  It's odd: although I was excited for the retrieval and to continue the process, part of me wanted to keep the eggs inside where they were safe, and where there was the eternal possibility that everything would work out.  I don't think of these eggs as 'life,' in the strictest sense, but they are the possibility of life, and once they were removed, I feel terribly vulnerable.  Someone else has them.  Someone else is now in charge of their welfare.  What if they don't do a good job?  

And yet, once they're back with me, I imagine the vulnerability feelings will increase exponentially.  For now, they're safe in the lab.  Once they're back, it's my own body's chance to take care of them, and I will have almost no control over this.

It's possible that the IVF process is the perfect combination of fierce protectiveness and sheer powerlessness that prepares one for parenthood.

Anyway, here's the plan:

• Today: fertilization report
• Tomorrow: additional report
• Sunday: very probable 3 day transfer
• Then...we wait.  (And continue the festival of shots in the bum.)
  

I've never liked flying.  To be precise: I hate flying.  After years of considering why, I've come to the conclusion that it's my total lack of control (and comparative lack of knowledge) to blame.  I like being in control: on a plane, I'm nowhere near it.  I don't know how to fly a plane.  I don't know how this huge pile of metal heaves itself into the sky.  I'm afraid it will fall out.

I've learned enough along the way to mitigate my flying fear quite a bit.  I know a relatively considerable amount about IVF.  And yet, today I feel like we're sitting on the runway, enduring my least favorite part of the flying experience: it's about take-off time, and once again, I can't imagine at this moment how any of it is going to work.

It does, every time.  But I'm just as nervous, every time.  Wild blue yonder, here we come.