The Game’s Afoot

Ye Gods, I’m on fire with this blogging business. Me again! Feeling rather a lot better today, thank you; I’ve been out for a little drive and, importantly, tackled some laundry before the family trouser situation became sub-critical. I might even have vacuumed the pot of gold tooth-destroyers dragees that Harry had previously knocked over the kitchen floor, but John beat me to it early this morning, and promptly broke the Dyson. (Or, at least: he was the designated operative when it ceased to function – which is generally a sufficiency to have me blamed for causing mechanical disasters.) The smell of twin-cyclone putrefaction wafted up the stairs to where I, still cowering under the duvet, emerged like a Bisto kid 

to smell the expense. This Dyson’s had more retirements than Sinatra. After a prolonged, luvvie-like expiration some months ago – I feel a sock-snaffling incident was an eventual catalyst – John finally took it apart and replaced everything customer-replaceable. It was pleasingly restored in wind and limb and we have had trouble-tree dust extraction – until the motor entered a plea of nolle prosequi this morning. I declared its demise on BaceFook, but it appears I was premature: John has ordered a new motor, and is planning to raise it from the dead early next week. Zombyson may yet continue.

I am enormously grateful for all your support, and am hugely appreciative of your concern. I puffy-heart the internet, or some such phrase; you are all invited for high tea and cake, in any event. (Or does high tea already include cake? I’m never sure. I must go back to my Blyton to check.) I have duly taken note of the popularity of Harry’s bon mots, and started to record some of his more comical utterances. I’ve been meaning to write a post on his improved speech for ages, but the camcorder footage I shot is… um… still on the camcorder. It’s coming, honest. The post and his speech both. Suffice to say: this week we have really hit the ‘why?’ and ‘what’s that?’ stage. I am a little boggle-eyed, and it’s not all OHSS pressure.

Anyway. The embryos! Are doing very well. All 9 have moved on from Wednesday. Day 4: we have one 7-cell and one 8-cell; the others are all showing signs of compaction (first stage of blastocyst) or beyond. Two of them have gone a step further and are cavitating. I made delighted noises at the embryologist, although, until I internetted, I had only the foggiest notion of her meaning. I expressed bright hopes regarding spare freezables, but although she conceded we were doing well, she didn’t want to be drawn, as apparently only 10% of cycles have good-quality blastocysts to freeze.

(I would, incidentally, like to type ‘blasts’, because I’m not the world’s best typist and abbreviation is always easier. But if I give ground on ‘blasts’, then it means the thin end of the wedge for ’embies’ – and at that point, I will have to fall on my sword.)

I am taking the best back on board at 9am tomorrow. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood – and make damn sure the doctor aims for the correct fucking uterus.


22 Responses

  1. Oh boy oh boy! (not meant to be a statement of predicted number or gender, thankyouverymuch) Good luck tomorrow!

    Based on age alone I will tell you that w/r/t “Why?” you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. It just keeps on coming, and then, one day, even though you swore never to get to this point, when you get the feeling that he’s asking without actually caring about the answer, you will feel yourself saying it…. “BECAUSE.” My friend calls the endless circle of questions “going down the rabbit hole.”

    But, too–many’s the time I’ve thought how lucky I am to be sinking under a barrage of questions. He’s asking them, he’s curious, it’s a pretty fine gift all in all.

    Anyway. Tomorrow–best of luck. As Red Green would say, we’re pullin’ for ya!

    • Oh, he is ALREADY asking ‘why’ without caring about the answer in the least, the little horror! He’s just meaninglessly prolonging the conversation. He’d be just as happy to talk about something else. I confess, I’ve already got as far as ‘because’, but it just got met with ‘why?’!

      • Ha ha! BTDT, my friend. Parental impotence at its finest.

        Actually, there is a much worse thing than finding yourself saying “BECAUSE,” which is when a “Why”er sucks you into explaining in more detail than you had planned to give how babies are made/born, what death is, etc. etc. I still wince thinking about at least one of those incidents. At least their memories seem as brief as their attention spans at this age…but you’re never totally sure.

  2. Turbo-embryos! That is good news:) as of course is your continued recovery.

    I’m guessing from “best” and the choice of uterus that you’re just transferring the one embryo back. Hope that you get some to freeze, too.

  3. Great news about the Blast! Here’s really looking forward to the Embies and then (some) Tot(s), and that you, Mum, feel better and better and your Hubs brings the Dyson to heel.

    No really, good luck tomorrow.

  4. I was debating an ironic ‘LOL’ but have decided I can’t quite bring myself to it. So you’ll have to forget about the previous sentence!

  5. Will be thinking of you tomorrow. Perhaps using a marker pen over the site of the correct uteri? Who knows, it might help!

  6. Uteri? Uterus?

  7. embie is a bit much, but the best (worst) i’ve seen in a blog i admit i (mostly) stopped reading for more or less that reason is: cervie. as in, the cervie is dilating. you and i could have cervies, i suppose, but that’s a bit close to “service” for my taste.

    may i ask an ignorant furriner question that is not meant to be pointed? hope so. ahem. do y’all not vaccinate for chickie poxies over there?

    (i remember when that shot was new — i thought it was silly bc i’d had chicken pox. but now i think: why not NOT have it? my mother had measles and mumps, but i’m okay with skipping those….)

  8. There’s nothing else for it. You’ll have to get a tattoo on each inner thigh, the one on the side of the wrong uterus saying “Not this one. Seriously, not this one. For the love of God, the other uterus, dammit!” and the tattoo on the side of the correct uterus saying “Yes, this one. Go forth and impregnate me!” Or something like that…

    Good luck tomorrow. I really hope it all goes well for you.

    Also cake? Did I hear the word cake? *Gets in car, drives to the Hairy Farmer House and refuses to leave without cake, generally becoming a nuisance*

  9. Ooh! This just begs for signs on your nether regions that say This Way To The Correct Uterus! and Bear Right (or is it left?) at the fork in the (fill in your own body part – I’m not THAT familiar with your anatomy). Good luck – and I hope there are some to freeze so you can answer the “Why”s for many years to come!

  10. Best of luck, dearie.

    Re: Why why why: I lapse into a sullen silence. Not my best mothering, but it preserves the last shards of sanity.

  11. I also wish the best for tomorrow. I will be rooting for you and your blast to transfer without complications or detours around your compliicated anatomy. ( I really like the directional sign idea, if you are like me, the less left to chance…LOL )
    Hope that Harry is better soon, we actually had a varicella pneumonia at our house once in my then two year old, as sometimes it can affect the lungs. There was nothing to be done, bur boy was he a sick and miserable little boy. The pox is no fun, but like the other readers am thrilled with reading about his verbal accomplishments.

  12. Positive thoughts beaming out to the chosen blast so that it embeds itself firmly in the correct uterus and stays there until fully cooked 😉

  13. Because nobody else has said it yet. High Tea definitely includes cake…
    Good luck for tomorrow.

  14. Shit that was two hours ago. Or judging by the delays I’ve had probably happening right now. Incredibly exciting. Very, very best of luck.

    At least you’ll be conscious for this one so you can keep shouting “get the correct uterus” (Blair or Cameron? I can’t recall.)

  15. […] Eventually – about 90 minutes after I’d first walked in – there was progress. A dummy catheter had already been inserted through Cyclops to clearly mark it as out of the running, and now a second catheter had been successfully passed into a second cervical os. This os was apparently discovered partially within the outer circle of Cyclops and initially looked unlikely, as the two catheters seemed to run too closely side by side – but then the new catheter took a sharp turn to the right. The ultrasound must then have picked it up in the correct place, as there was suddenly a palpable carnival atmosphere, and the embryologist scurried off to fetch 2cc – which we have, of course, christened Turbo. […]

  16. Good luck, should be happening as I type this – or thereabouts given time zones have just all changed.
    With the ‘why’ thing…I always say, why do you think – and it completely confuses them into stunned silence.

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