Putting all my eggs in one basket

I went to Syracuse yesterday for my retrieval. After three weeks of injections and nine ultrasounds, after two months of waiting to get back on the horse following the miscarriage, it was finally time.

Hope went with me to drive me home following the procedure. She had never been with me to one of these appointments, but I've told her so much, she knew what to expect. They let her stay in the room with me while I was out and they did the actual retrieval. So she was right there when I woke up.

Four eggs. I felt like I got punched in the stomach. Four? Only four? Hope told me that embryologist said they looked really good, that I should get three or four embryos from them. I was disappointed, but tried to remain positive.

We continued with our adventure, over to the office next door for acupuncture, and then headed south back home. I had lunch with Heather and then did a little grocery shopping. By that point, I was worn out and a little crampy. I needed to remember that even though I recover from this procedure much better than anyone ever expects, I still had a surgical procedure done. I went home, put the freezer and fridge stuff away and left the rest on the counter, before climbing into my chair and sleeping for the next three hours.

I alternatively felt sorry for myself and my four eggs and tried to think positively -- I only need one embryo to get pregnant. Still, being able to put two or three in would increase my chances.

I went to bed early last night, still tired. About 10:30, my cell phone beeped and woke me up. Because I had been in such a sound sleep, I didn't realize what beep it was -- E, J or just the general one.

I opened the phone. It was from J. "hi, how did everything go today?"

I sighed, without even being able to explain to myself what I was feeling. I started to type that there were only four, that I was disappointed, etc. But I erased it all. Not the baby daddy, not my husband or my boyfriend, or my lover. So I wrote back, "Good, I'll find out tomorrow when the transfer is and how many embryos."

"Keep me posted babe."

I had foster care class this morning. Already in week 8. I'm actually going to get through these 11 weeks -- wow. I had my phone on vibrate and the FG's office called about 10:30.

"They injected all four eggs and two fertilized, so that's great. You've got two embryos."

It's better than one or none. But again, disappointment. This shows me that my quality egg reserve is not-so-slowly dwindling. My first retrieval was seven eggs, and netted five embryos. The second retrieval was seven eggs, three embryos. This time, four and two.

Instead of spending the day thinking about what this all means, how many eggs I may actually have left, how many chances I actually have, I would really like to spend the day with someone -- Chris or E or J -- who can make me laugh, make me realize that it's okay, that I still have choices and chances. I'll feel sorry for myself for a few more hours and then I'll snap out of it.

Because I have to. Because I need to put my positive hat on and get ready for the transfer, to not think about anything but the transfer on Monday.