Hope You Like Roller Coasters

Day 1:

As instructed, I took the next day off of work. I wasn’t able to drive because of the anesthesia. Mom stayed with me to make sure I stayed put. I was impressed with how well I felt. I woke up earlier than ever, so anxious for the 856 number to pop up on my phone. I checked my phone over 100 times, making sure it was not on silent. What time were they going to call, I thought. Mom could tell I was anxious. She kept trying to come up with everything and anything to keep me occupied. She brought over breakfast, we watched the morning shows together, and then she said my favorite line of hers, “Let’s go shopping.” I was dying to check out Hobby Lobby. We have a newly renovated kitchen, and I was still on a mission to make my Pinterest board come to life. I needed some more decor. So to Hobby Lobby we went. We were walking around, smiling, laughing, putting things we did not need in our shopping cart when my phone started to ring. 856. I stopped dead in my tracks. I lost my breath. I grabbed Mom’s hand, and answered the call. The embryologist introduced herself and reminded me how many eggs they pulled. She then told me a lot of the eggs were unfortunately immature. I didn’t like how she used the word unfortunately. I anticipated nothing but good news with this call. How could there be anything but good news? They pulled 37 eggs! She then went on to tell me only 14 of the 37 eggs were mature. 14 is a good number, I thought. She said they divided the mature eggs in half. 7 went through ICSI and 7 went through natural fertilization. Only one fertilized after ICSI. I was confused. I thought ICSI had a 75% + fertilization rate? She told me usually it does. They were extremely surprised by the outcome. I hated that. Why am I always the Doctors surprise? My mom could sense something was wrong the second I let go of her hand. My eyes went down. My head followed. “What about natural fertilization,” I asked. “Was that more successful?” “It was,” she said. I let out a sigh of relief, but my air supply was cut off again when she said only 4 fertilized. If you are reading this, trying to figure out the math in your head, let me spell it out for you. Out of 37 eggs, 5 fertilized on day one. Some people don’t get any. Some only get 2 or 3, but I wasn’t thinking about those people. I knew the statistics. I did enough research. About 50% of the fertilized eggs you have on Day 3 will make it to Day 6, and on average you will lose 1-2 between Day 1 and Day 3. I thought I was going to be working with a football team. 5 just didn’t seem like enough, and the embryologist didn’t sound hopeful. She sounded disappointed and confused, which made me feel even more unsettled about all of this. I told her I wanted my IVF nurse and Dr. Sawin to call me as soon as possible. I needed to talk this out more. She assured me she would make sure my message got to them both. We hung up. I looked at Mom, there’s only 5. Mom reminded me that it only takes one. I told her, it doesn’t sound like we are going to have one. We left the cart in the middle of the aisle and walked out. I will never step foot in that Hobby Lobby again, I thought to myself. I got into her car, buckled my seatbelt and began to cry. Mom was silent the entire car ride home. She just drove, and let me cry. There was nothing she could say that would restore my faith, and if there was, she knew it wasn’t the time.

My IVF nurse, Rachael and Dr. Sawin both received my message. I had the opportunity to speak to them both, but neither of the conversations made me feel better. They were both stunned. They anticipated a completely different outcome. I came out and asked Dr. Sawin how many I was going to have at the end of this. He told me he’s seen it all. He’s seen all 5 make it to day 6. He’s seen none make it to day 6. He’s seen some make it to day 6. This entire time, I have asked him to be real with me. I asked him to not fill me with hope and positivity. I asked him to only tell me what I needed to hear. He did just that, and I was still upset with him. I wanted an answer, and he didn’t have it.

To those just getting started, here’s your takeaway. This journey is not black and white. It’s always f*cking gray.

Day 2:

Unlike Day 1, I didn’t want the call. I didn’t want to know how many we lost. 11:11am, a time that keeps making itself known, my phone starts to ring. It was a different embryologist. I could tell, the voices were different. She sounded unusually chipper. She told me we had 7 fertilized eggs. “Seven? We had five yesterday?” I was confused. She said there were a couple of slow pokes, and two more fertilized overnight. This was amazing news. Seven is a great number! We were back in it, and celebrating.

Day 3:

I knew the call would be coming any minute. I tried to prepare for both good and bad, but I only wanted to practice my good news reaction. I was on my way to work when the 856 number came up on my Jeep’s screen. I hit the green phone before the first ring could finish. “Hello, this is Jennifer,” I shouted probably a little too loud into my blue tooth. “Hi Jennifer, this is Susan, the embryologist at South Jersey Fertility calling with your Day 3 update,” she said. All I managed to get out was, “Yes…” All 7 of your embryos divided. “That’s good right?” I asked. “Yes, that’s very good,” she replied. In that moment, I felt like I could do anything. We were on the up, and we were another step closer to where we wanted to be. I thanked her, hung up, and called Michael with the good news. I reminded him half of day three embryos is usually what makes it to day six. We were mentally preparing for 3 or 4 embryos. A perfect number.

Day 6:

I had an appointment to get eyelash extensions. I use to get them all of the time when I lived in Upstate New York. I missed them, and I couldn’t wait to have them back. I recently found two girls in South Jersey that are amazing at them, and I stopped going because it was too much with all of our baby making drama. I kept praying I would get the call before I went or after, just not during, because there was no way I was going to let our final call go to voicemail. I was getting ready to head out, and still no call. My stomach was in knots. What was taking so long? I gave Michael a hug and kiss and told him I couldn’t wait to celebrate with him later, and out the door I went. I pulled up to Barby’s salon, and as soon as I put my car in park, the infamous 856 number popped up. I took a breath, braced myself, and answered the phone, hoping the embryologist would skip the introduction and just give me my number right away. She started to go into explanation mode, and I suddenly felt sick. I looked for somewhere to vomit. I had one embryo, and while in that moment I could have said to myself, it only takes one, all I heard was her explaining to me about the quality of my only embryo. It was average at best. They did not have a lot of confidence in it surviving the biopsy, let alone the freezing process. I didn’t understand what this meant for our future. When I asked her what all of this meant, she started talking about a second egg retrieval. I was crying, and didn’t even realize it, until she told me she knows how disappointing this must all be for me. Did she though? Has she ever sat on the other line of this phone call? I asked her if we could just transfer our one embryo. She said it’s recommenced we try to freeze it and start building an embryo bank. She told me she would hate for me to start preparing for a transfer, and go through everything that needs to be done ahead of the next step, and then this embryo not survive thawing, then we would be left with nothing. It made sense. She asked me what I wanted to do with our average quality embryo. Our BC student. I told her it was a decision I needed to make with my husband, and I needed to go home and talk to him. She said she would have one of the Doctors call me, and then we hung up.

You Say, by Lauren Daigle came on the radio. “Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low? Remind me once again, just who I am because I need to know. You say I am loved, when I can’t feel a thing. You say I am strong, when I think I am weak. You say I am held when I am falling short. And when I don’t belong, you say I am yours. And I believe. I believe what you say of me.” And the line that shook me to my bones, “Taking all I have, and now I’m laying it at your feet. You have every failure God, you have every victory.” That song comes on today, and I still get a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. God was with me in that very moment. He knew how broken I felt. He knew I was ready to throw in the towel and call it quits. And it was time for him to speak. He was lyrically asking me, are you done now? Are you done trying to do this alone? Will you let me in now? Will you trust me and my plan for you? I screamed so loud, punching my steering wheel, until I couldn’t feel my hand anymore. I called my Mom, I gave her the news as briefly as I could, and told her I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I quickly hung up before she could ask or say anything.

I wiped my tears, and tried to put on a strong face, and hid my eyes with sunglasses as I walked into my eyelash appointment. I wanted to personally apologize for canceling my appointment last minute. I know how busy these girls get. Luckily it was just Gerri when I walked in. She greeted me with a smile, which quickly vanished and turned into a look of concern when my sunglasses came off. “Jenni, what’s wrong?” I nearly fell to my knees. She sat me down, and held me. There I was in the middle of a beauty salon, letting my tears and snot cover my esthetician’s adorable top, and there she was, just holding me in silence, with not the slightest idea of why. A few moments passed, and I managed to gather myself together. I explained as best as I could what just happened. She held my hand the entire time. She just kept telling me how sorry she was this was happening. She told me I didn’t deserve it. She told me she would be praying for me, and told me to keep trying. She was so certain it was going to happen for us, and I wanted so badly to believe her. I told her I had to go home and tell Michael, so she gave me one last hug, and walked me to the door.

As soon as I got in the car, I called my Mom again. I was ready to talk about it, and she was ready with questions. I answered them as best I could. She then started to preach a glass half full kind of speech, but I wasn’t having it. I stopped her, before she could really get started, I was crying so hard I had to pull over. “Mom!” I screamed. “Can you not? Can you not try to feed me bullshit right now?” She asked me what I wanted from her. "I want you to cry with me. I want you to be sad for me. I want you to tell me I don’t deserve this. If you can’t, just let me be sad. Let me be mad. Let me have this time, because it’s the only way I know how to feel right now, and I think I have every right.” “Yes, you do,” her voice cracked. She was crying. “I am so sorry Hunny.” I cried harder. “Mommy.” “I am so so sorry,” she said again. “You don’t deserve this. No one does.”

I pulled into the driveway. Took a breath, and walked into the house. Michael came up from the den. I was home way too soon. With one look, he knew. He kissed my forehead and held me. Just when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, out came a fountain of tears. I cried the entire time I spilled the news, and he just continue to hug me. He was angry. He was tired of the up and down. “What happens next?” He asked. I heard the song playing again, this time it was coming from our Alexa downstairs. “The only thing that matters now is everything you think of me. In you I find my worth. In you I find my identity.”

I wiped my tears, and stared straight into his eyes. “We freeze our embryo, and get ready for a second egg retrieval.”