We are 4 days past 3 day transfer (4dp3dt) today. E's symptoms include intermittent low grade nausea, lots of cramping, and boob "twinges." All potentially attributable to the progesterone, of course.
More serious side effects are the chronic google-ing and the violent boob-squeezing.
The googling is non-stop. She googles first thing upon waking. She won't fix me my ever-loving dinner because she's googling. She sits down to "read Harry Potter" and googles. She googles during the curb-stomping scene in American History X. She googles whilst brushing her teeth.
I swear, if I'm not walking into the kitchen to find her squeezing the christ out of her boobs, I'm wandering around at 2 AM, looking for my wife, only to find her on the toilet squinting at our damned laptop.
Today E decided it was time to visit the esteemed and trustworthy magic 8 ball website to determine if she was pregnant. When she typed in "am i pregnant" it responded with "My Sources Say No." Feeling angry and skeptical, she typed in "does GS love me," to which it responded "No Way!" After this rather cruel exchange, E decided the magic 8 ball was full of shit and navigated away to google.
This two week wait (tww) bullshit is risickulous. What really gets me is the constant wondering when you'll have your partner's body back. It could be 2 weeks! It could be 2 years! My readers familiar with IVF will know of what I speak:
...the wretched suppositories.
E claims she'd prefer the daily progesterone ass-injections. That's right, she'd prefer that a 2 inch needle inject PIO (progesterone IN OIL - all kinds of nasty viscous) in her ass every day. That was the protocol for IVF attempt #1, and she had angry purple welts covering her ass for a month after her negative beta.
That's how repulsive it must feel to insert vaginal progesterone suppositories thrice daily.
In other news, our clinic refuses to call us and let us know if any of our embryos made it to freezing. It is day 7 for the stragglers. They are already either in the dumpster or in the frozen cell aisle, since the embryologist made the decisions on days 5 and 6. I get little twinges in my heart about the ones in the garbage. I can just imagine them, the little hoodlums, acting like criminals and then getting the heave ho to the garbage, calling out on their way down:
Hippie Embryo: (bitterly) That's harsh, dude!
Ghetto Embryo: You don't know me! You don't even know me!
Loser Embryo: (whinily) Don't judge me. I don't judge you. Quit with your judgments.
Poor little cells.