I can’t believe it’s been a whole week since the embryo transfer, in a way, it feels like a year. The fact that I went through the ivf cycle feels unreal, like it happened to someone else. I guess my method of coping has been to turn off my brain and go through the motions. It is a good self-preservation tactic, but I usually end up feeling like I missed out on something.

I’ve really been trying to be hopeful and positive, but that is next to impossible for me. I will go in for a pregnancy test on Wednesday. They will draw my blood, this is usually called a beta blood test. Before the beta, I’m going to use a home pregnancy test so I will have an idea of the outcome before the nurse calls. Some people don’t do the hpt, they find it too difficult or would rather enjoy the notion of “possibly” being pregnant. In my case, I simply can’t stand the wait any longer. I feel such a strong need to know the outcome of this cycle. I’m living in limbo and must get back onto solid ground.

I’m second-guessing everything I do. If I want to paint my nails, I think, “I won’t get a positive result on the hpt with painted nails, I better not paint them,” so I don’t. When I want to tell someone about my cycle or a particular cramp I have, I think, “if that person knows this information, my pregnancy test will be negative,” so I keep the info to myself. Now, I realize, believe me, I REALIZE how CRAZY this sounds yet, I cannot help myself. I’m not generally a superstitious person, but frankly, I’m not myself these days. The old me seems to have taken a hike long ago and I just keep getting farther and farther away from the person I used to be.

I’ve got two more days until I do an hpt. Until then, I’ve battened down the hatches and gone into my zone. Officially turning off my brain and preparing to go through the motions until it’s safe to resurface. When did life get so hard? Today, I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to get pregnant just by enjoying a nice, romantic night with my husband. That seems so far away from me now. How did I get here?

Officially in survival mode now, both of us, my embryo and me. I’m not sure how strong this embryo is or how long it will live, but it was alive and growing when it was put into my body. If it doesn’t survive, at least we’ve had a brief bit of time together. I’m grateful for that.

If this embryo does not make it, I will not know when it passes away. I will only be able to detect it’s absence if the pregnancy test in ten days comes back negative. It is painful knowing that even now it may already be gone. I’ll never have that answer so I will choose not to dwell on it. Instead I’ll enjoy the memory of seeing the embryo on the ultrasound as it was put into my body.

We even have a picture of it. A grainy, black and white ultrasound picture of my embryo, a tiny, white speck, being propelled out of a catheter into it’s mother’s waiting body. The ultrasound tech told us we were having a Coming Home Party as the embryo was placed back in me and I have a real, honest to goodness, picture. I’m grateful for that.

Only one embryo made it to transfer. It was graded average, only a 4 cell when they like to see a 5-6 cell. The good news is, it wasn’t fragmented. Except for being a slowpoke, the embryologist said it looked “perfect.”

I’m pretty much numb. All those shots, thousands of dollars of medication, the blood draws, crack of dawn appointments: my life for the last month relying on this poor little 4 cell embryo for validation.

I’m trying to be positive, but it’s actually painful to hope at this point. I need to find something else to focus on. Let’s see, I guess I could go back to my normal life and become productive at work again. I could find time to be social with friends again. Hopefully, there is still life on the outside because it’s getting pretty dark and dreadful in the infertility abyss.