How FET works

There isn't a whole lot to tell about my FET transfer but I figure I'll talk about it anyway while suffering the eternal wait ie chewing through my cuticles down to the bone. The FET transfer is very much like any old IVF transfer, you just show up and have what feels like a pap smear and in ten minutes it's over. I have to say that I love ova girl's label for it as "squirty up the clacker day," a perfect name for what it amounts to. A lot of build up to what is basically a glorified pelvic exam with a mini bonus.

There is a most bizarre aspect to an FET that differs greatly from a typical IVF transfer. It's odd to swallow but you basically don't know until you show up if you'll have any embryos successfully thaw and if they do thaw well you won't know what condition they'll be in until about five minutes before "the clacker squirt." This whole aspect of the FET made me nearly vomit with anticipation when the receptionist said "go have a coffee and come back in thirty minutes (and we'll tell you the future of your entire family lineage from here on out)" Seb was very pleased to be allowed to go have a coffee and be freed from the waiting room where he always hates sitting anyway. I always bug him wringing my hands and make gibberishly, nervous wife talk (as he thumbs through a magazine tuning me out). So while he was very casual and enthusiastic about taking this little coffee break and had skipped off to get some money from a bank machine in the parking lot, I was beside myself, stunned in fear. Oh my god would they even thaw at all? Would both thaw? Would they both die? Yes they'd probably both die. They were probably dying right this second! If they died would I cry there on the spot or could I hold it until we made it to the car? I couldn't say one way or the other. Maybe I'd stay stoic for a few minutes or maybe I'd immediately burst into tears. What if they both thawed but were both awful quality. What if they were just these grade D cellular blobs and I had to wait the two weeks knowing that I hadn't a snowball's chance in hell. That could be worse! I sat there and thought. Which of the two would be worse, no chance or slowly squandering hope? I couldn't decide. Seb looked up from his coffee and Little S was holding up a Giant Kit Kat bar he'd helped himself to from beside the cash register, much to the dismay of the grumpy patron, and then suddenly it was time to go back and get The News.

"Messieur and Madame..." my heart stopped and I tried hard to take a deep breath where one wasn't available and became a little panicked at my sudden lack of oxygen. We sat down at a desk in a small office and a young, female lab assistant wearing Puma sneaker and jeans (it never ceases to amaze me how health care professionals in France get to dress) pulled out our file and pretended to review it a little so she wouldn't seem rushed and then announced dryly, "okay well you have two six day embryos and one is not doing so well and it's on the decline...(long pause) but the other is just beautiful! It's dividing and growing. It's lovely!" I eyed her suspiciously. She was glossing it over. One was shit and the other was kind of shit but she didn't want a sob scene. The standard "deliver the bad news in a good way" spiel. I wasn't buying it. Okay "whatever" lab chick. Give the same speech to the next couple. Deliver it twenty times today if it make your life any easier.

As we returned to the waiting room to await the transfer of our one "mediocre" embryo I felt that familiar sense of doom encompassing me. This was all a fiasco. A total waste of time. We'd driven to Lyon at four a.m. on a Saturday morning to complete an administrative step required by the hospital, not to have a baby. Not to get pregnant. I felt my morale sinking where I had tried so hard to keep it afloat and I asked Seb to please take Little S for a short walk around the hall so I could sit alone undistracted. He said something to me but I barely heard him. I was so lost in my thoughts I couldn't hear anything but a faint buzzing of what was probably the fluorescent lights or perhaps my brain, I wasn't sure anymore. Meanwhile Dr. Dieu strolled by, white lab coat, long, brown hair slicked back and that cunning fox grin. He regarded me slyly and slowed his step a pace and then he winked. I'm not sure why he winked or what it meant. It annoyed me though because he was obviously trying to cheer a hapless patient out of her misery and I was in no mood for it. I always think guys who wink are weird anyway. Movie stars wink. Brad Pitt winks. I don't want winks while I'm this vulnerable. It irked me this wink thing.

A few long minutes later we were called in and Dieu sat us down and asked us about Mexico. He then turned to our file and said "it's a very nice one!" and I did a mental eye roll. Not him too, please. Then he asked me to disrobe, move to the examining table and assume the position while we waited for the embryo. It's going to be a little Mexican isn't it! You leave in June right?" Seb responded enthusiastically but I stayed silent and Dieu said "what's wrong? You seem very odd today." And I couldn't answer him without a string of words and explanations followed by tears, so I kept it to myself and said nothing.

A few minutes later another lab tech came in to pass off the embryo and he said "it's a really nice one, great quality" and I closed my ears to it because I didn't want to hear that it was good quality because when it failed it would be my fault. It would be something I did. I killed off a beautiful embryo, me the mother. Oh the guilt of it.

On the way home from the transfer we stopped at Ikea and I was tired but we worked our way through the entire store and only stopped once for tea and coffee. Then we stopped at the French Home Depot and then another Home Improvement store two more hours later where I had to stop and pee because I felt a gush. The gush was likely progesterone leaking, but I was fearful that it was blood and I had reason to be fearful because it was. I was spotting and there were clumps of I don't know what on the toilet paper. My heart sunk and I felt like I had the answer already five hours after the transfer. The rest of the eight days would pass with me accepting the inevitable. At least all this was over and at least we'd be able to go on to IVF three.

And so that's why I was shocked last week. And I still can't believe the turn of events, honestly.