After a week of giving myself multiple injections that by all accounts made me look like a heroin addict, the grand finale of my fertility treatments was finally upon me. As I had done every day this past week, I visited the fertility clinic and was requested to, how does one put this delicately, spread for bread. However on this particular morning, the doctor was no longer simply monitoring the growth of my eggs. Today, he would be the gynecological equivalent of the Easter Bunny and collect as many little eggs as possible through my bulging ovarian baskets.
Thankfully, I chose to undergo the procedure under general anaesthesia, since there is something about poking fourty odd holes in my ovaries while awake that just doesn't sit right with me. My hubbie calmed me before the procedure and fed me chicken soup after it was done. Of course it was a big day for him too, and he valiantly performed on demand to produce his noble contribution to the cause. Despite the fact that these embryos have found their start as test tube babies, there is still something magical about the process and we both felt an undeniable sense of glee and awe at the reality of what was going one. These little guys (or gals) are just cells sitting on a shelf for now, but they could one day be our future children, waiting until the right time to make their entrance into this world.
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