I had my first ultrasound this morning for my first frozen embryo transfer. My plan? Business as usual. No silly blue birds singing and spreading garland with their happy little beaks. Jaded, been around the block before, we'll believe it if and when it happens kind of girl. Like a high school girl smitten with the quarterback, I failed. I'm easy. All it took was this:
Kit, the wonder nurse: "Your ovaries look wonderful. I feel very, very positive about this cycle."
Jaded, been around the block before, we'll believe it if and when it happens kind of girl: "Well, we've made the decision that we'll try three rounds of IVF, and that's it. If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be."
Kit the wonder nurse: "I think that's the right attitude, but I don't believe it will take three rounds. I believe this will happen for you before then."
Smitten, easy girl: "Really? (sniffle) (shy smile)."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, all she needs are a few sweet nothings and she's planning the wedding.
Immediately after our first IVF failed, we (I) decided we needed to plan a trip to the sun, recompense for the heartbreak of what wasn't. So, we're heading to the sun on January 5th for a week. I start Lupron on the 6th; estrogen pills and patch on the 9th. I kind of like the idea of beginning the process in paradise; the juxtaposition of responsibility for planning (blue birds chirping) a pregnancy yet eating and sunning to excess.
I'm trying to wipe the damn smile off my face.