Those are the numbers:
Three rounds of IVF.
Leaves us with two viable embryos.
We'll transfer one, and hope for the best.
The third round of IVF was the worst of the three. The drugs affected me differently and I had a case of ovarian hyperstimulation afterwards, which was miserable. It stayed with me through the first days of vacation.
Yes, we finished IVF and hopped on a plane to escape the holidays.
While on vacation, they did genetic testing on the embroys. Two came back as viable.
I know I should be happy with two. Two is more than one. It's more than none. I KNOW THAT.
But I'm not happy. I'm not sad. I'm not really... anything. I don't feel negative, like this won't work, but I also don't feel like it will (and if my husband tells me one more time to be positive, he's getting punched!). Two doesn't feel like enough. I'm not being greedy, I'm being realistic. The odds in this baby making game have never been in my favor. There's danger in unthawing. There's only a 40-50% chance of implantation. With only two, what if one doesn't survive the thaw? What if the back up doesn't implant? If that happens, I think we're done. Can I be done? I can't let my mind wander in that direction, so I stop myself from thinking much into the future at all.
We're waiting now. More waiting. Once my cycle begins, we can start prepping for transfer. It will be mid-Feb for the transfer, and the end of Feb before we can know if it worked.
That's a long time.
And so I wait.
Three. Two. One.