On the morning of Friday, May 20th, I got a phone call from our embryologist babysitter at 9:15am. He called to say that out of the 10 eggs that were retrieved, 9 of them were mature and able to be fertilized yesterday afternoon. Out of those, 7 were still growing on Friday morning. He said that they looked good and tentatively, we'd have embryo transfer on Sunday morning. I thanked him for the news and he said he'd call me again on Saturday with another update.
It's nice that they do that, isn't it? For once I didn't have to wonder all day what was going on.
I was conflicted on how to feel. On one hand, I was ecstatic that we had 7 growing since we only had 3 big enough for retrieval several days earlier with many more lagging behind. Those darned shots and the extra vials of Bravelle in the evening did the trick and helped some of the straggling eggs mature! On the other hand, I was nervous that we started with 9 and had already lost 2. If this continues, we may not end up with many to choose from/freeze when it comes time for transfer. I hoped these little 7 could hold on.
At 4:45pm, I set my phone down long enough to hobble to the bathroom and don't you know that's when my Doc's office called about transfer. The IVF nurse left a voicemail saying that that I was set for transfer on Sunday (3-day transfer) at 8:30am and to give her a call back confirming that I got the message. I did as soon as I returned to my phone, but of course got her voicemail. Tag, you're it, Nurse Lady.
Hold on Little 7! Hold on!