Embryo transfer attempt #6

This past week brought what will be our final embryo transfer attempt for 2018. It’s our 6th transfer attempt overall, our 4th attempt this year, and our 3rd attempt using one of the embryos from our donor egg IVF cycle.

If you’re wondering how a person stays sane through this many attempts…you’ll have to ask someone else.

After hovering nervously over the phone all morning, we finally got the call that the embryo had survived the defrost, and that we were expected at the clinic at 2pm. That gave us just enough time to grab our huge binder of paperwork, borrow our friends’ car, and make the ~2-hour drive to Belgium*.

This transfer went a little more smoothly than our last frozen embryo transfer and a lot more smoothly than our fresh donor egg embryo transfer. My bladder was just the right amount full for the ultrasound technician to see my uterus, and the doctor was my normal IVF doctor, who is much friendlier than the guy we had the last two times.

The doc also told us that the embryo was progressing well — it had been rated a 3BC before freeze, and it had already expanded to a 5CB since defrost. Although the letter grade (C) for the inner cell mass was only “acceptable”, she was pleased that the embryo had already started hatching out of its protective outer shell. This is exactly the stage you’d want an embryo to be at by day 6, and it’s also the last stage before it’s ready for implantation.

What does the transfer feel like?

If you’re wondering whether the embryo transfer procedure is painful, it’s not. The only slightly uncomfortable part is the hard metal speculum they insert first, which any woman who has visited a gynecologist is already familiar with. You can’t even feel the actual transfer. Given that, I’m always surprised that it still manages to cause cramping for 24-48 hours afterward, which makes for a fun little mind game. (“Implantation cramps?!”)

Regarding the emotional/psychological side of undergoing a transfer, I’ve heard some women say things like: “The moment they put the embryo inside me, I felt teary/filled with joy/a strange sense of calm”. Here, I have to disagree. Maybe it’s from having so many failed transfers, or maybe it’s just me, but I really only felt like I’d had a catheter shoved up my uterus while three other people watched.

What now?

We’re now well into the two-week wait, which any IVF’er can tell you is one of the most agonizing parts of the process (injections included). Caffeine intake should be limited, which means I had to brave a 7am train to an all-day meeting on Friday with only (crosses self) a decaf latte. Then, I couldn’t find anywhere near the meeting location to lie down the requisite 30 minutes after inserting my afternoon progesterone pessaries**, so I had to make do on the floor of a public toilet. Mixing IVF and work is not for the faint of heart.

Thankfully, my pregnancy test is already coming up this Friday, which means we only have a few more days to wait. This will be our last attempt this calendar year, as I have a three-week-long work trip in December. I’m not feeling particularly hopeful, but then again, I’ve only ever experienced it not working.

While I’m sad that this will be our last try for 2018, the husband and I have devised a win-win scenario to deal with the news: we bought (mostly refundable) plane tickets to a friend’s wedding in an exotic (but Zika-prone) location. So either I’m pregnant, and we pay a small fee to cancel my ticket, or I’m not pregnant, and I’m going to INDIA!!!

xx

*It would normally be a ~2 hour drive at that time of the day, but as a classic ‘nervous pee-er’, I made my husband stop at multiple rest stops before I was convinced my bladder was empty enough to chug the >1L of water required for the transfer.

**Fun fact: A pessary is a suppository for your vagina.

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