Napping in a warm patch of afternoon sunlight:
A Valentine’s Day dinner ‘in’: pretentiously fancy 4-course surf and turf.
Brainstorming building the new deck for the yard this spring:
The irony, rich and hilarious, that arrived this afternoon via dueling PGS reports:
That was the second of the two reports. As per my earlier post about feeling pulled innumerable directions to bring this epic to a close, I actually pursued a few of those “seductive avenues” at once. Namely, in the midst of all the waylaid time of waiting on biopsy results, I cycled myself and a Czech donor simultaneously, almost; my retrieval was a week and a day after hers. That probably sounds crazy, but there was a method to my madness: a desperate desire to make embryos without delay in order to move on as quickly as possible. You know: I just need this to be over. I got both PGS reports this afternoon, maybe two hours apart, me vs. her (a theme that has been performing all sorts of contortionist tricks in my psyche over recent weeks).
I know you will say that the donor’s retrieval numbers are low, but Czech doctors do a ‘soft stim’ because it is safer for the girls, and they believe it improves egg quality, “believe” being the operative word in this case. It’s sort of delicious and validating and silly after several weeks of tormenting myself with admonishments about giving up on my embryos to spare my poor tattered nerves and just ripping the band-aid off the egg donor question. Hmmph, lo and behold, my “proven” donor is less fertile than me. This also blends seamlessly into the rich tapestry of oddball, statistically absurd, darkly comic happenings of my life with my husband. Could you imagine if I had taken the doctors at their word and decided to forego genetic testing? If I had just subjected myself to failed transfer after failed transfer, demolishing the last shreds of faith in my body. Just thinking of that makes me shudder. So lastly, this is a PSA: even good donors have bad days, and maybe it’s not always your fault.