Maybe Baby Blog

It's The Embryonic Stage

I arrived at the clinic the next morning and took my place in a waiting room crowded with couples. I wasn’t half as bothered about being on my own as they seemed to be, judging from the sympathetic looks I got.

Luckily I was in the first wave sent up to the theatre and was soon summoned to see the doctor. He was a lovely young man who told me that out of the five eggs they had collected four had turned into healthy embryos. What a relief! My eggs work! Sid’s sperm work! And they like each other! The doc said that if I was happy they would transplant two embryos into my uterus. Happy - that was an understatement. He did warn me that there was the possibility that I could have twins and I said that apart from not being able to fit a double buggy in the lift at our flat that was no problem at all.

I was sent through to my little curtained cubicle and changed into the ubiquitous hospital gown, disposable slippers and paper cap. After about twenty minutes I was called through for a scan to see if my bladder was full enough for the embryologist to see where she was going around my uterus. 

As anyone who’s ever had an ultrasound will tell you, timing is all important when it comes to bladder fullness. I once made the fatal error of drinking a whole water cooler before I got in the car to go to an appointment and by the time the nurse called my name I felt like a water balloon with legs. And then they grease your stomach up and press on it. 

Mine wasn’t quite full enough this time, so I was sent back to my cubicle to down a few more glasses of water and listened through the curtain as other ladies were taken through and later wheeled back into the recovery area.

Partners were welcome in the theatre for the procedure and I saw a few apprehensive blokes dressed up like extras from ER. It was only then I realised that not only was Sid not going to be in the same room for the possible conception of our child, he wouldn’t even be in the same country. 

With a bladder on the point of bursting I was eventually taken back into the theatre. If you’re squeamish, look away now….

However lovely the medical staff are, a woman is never going to feel at her most glamorous in a regulation hospital gown and no pants, lying on a bed with her legs in the air. Add to that a full bladder and a metal clamp inserted to aid easy access and I think you get the picture. So it was nice of some kind soul to have stuck a picture of an idyllic desert island to the ceiling above the bed. 

It only took a few minutes. The embryos were brought through in what looked like a long, skinny straw on the end of syringe, the straw was inserted into me and given a squirt and then checked to make sure it was empty. OK, it’s probably a bit more technical than that. But I was too busy concentrating on the beach above my head to notice. Then they gave me a photo of the embryos. That’s when it all became very real.

I was wheeled back into my little cubicle clutching the photo. I lay there for twenty minutes listening to Heart (station of choice for all good IVF recovery rooms) and silently praying to whichever god cared to listen. I also made a promise to the embryos that were now floating around inside me that if they stuck around I would be the best mum that anyone could possibly wish for. 

Then I remembered that I was desperate for a wee and was relieved, literally, when the nurse popped her head round the curtain to say that I could get up.

Posted by Maybe Baby on February 11, 2008 at 10:56AM

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