Alas, poor embryos. I knew them …

My quest for motherhood is like looking for red Skittles, i.e., good-quality eggs, in a bag of many colors. They're there; we just have to find them.

With the number of steps involved in the in-vitro process, I was bound to forget at least one. This would be the call from the andrologist on the status of the remaining five embryos.

I first Googled the phone number as I always do with unprogrammed calls and saw that it came from the hospital’s lab, my hospital. Neither the Mr. nor I could figure out why they were calling. Then, the message on “the status of your embryos” freaked me out even further. I figured it’d be about cost or storage options or how long we thought we wait before tapping into the frozen reserve. I called back immediately to find that neither assumption was true.

It was about the status of our embryos.

Retrospectively, it felt like what would happen in the hospital when a nurse would call family members about their loved ones. They never say, “Mrs. K died.” Instead, they talk about the status of Mrs. K’s condition and how the family should come in. If you’ve ever experienced the activity surrounding someone’s else death in a hospital bed, you can always tell what you’re in for just based on the cryptic language used when they call you. But this was no nurse; the woman is an andrologist. She was compassionately matter-of-fact but obviously not a patient-care practitioner. I don’t hold that against her. I appreciated the information and her willingness to repeat it until I was sure I understood.

Essentially, there are no longer five embryos. Before the transfer, there were seven. The best two of those — the ones dividing evenly with proper cell shape and most likely to implant — were transferred last week, three days after fertilization.

Three more simply didn’t reach the blastocyst stage, meaning they “failed to progress” to Day 5. (Blastocysts are more likely to survive the freezing and thawing process for a another transfer than “younger” embryos.) Another embryo became a blastocyst but then began dividing unevenly and soon “arrested” as well. These are the types of fertilized eggs that never would’ve implanted in the first place. Yet, it’s still feels a little bit a little bit depressing that they didn’t make it and that there aren’t more additional mini-me possibilities.

Yet there is room for rejoicing because one survived to the cyropreservation (freezing) stage and is expected to be there when we need it. Also, in perspective, the loss of three embryos makes sense. Embryo survival is closely linked to egg quality, and my unexplained infertility is blamed on a diminished ovarian reserve. That means that of all the eggs I have, I only have a few that are of good quality. The majority of them probably aren’t as likely to undergo fertilization and endure a full term. The in-vitro route makes the existence of those eggs more apparent.

Imagine it this way: you have a bag of Skittles, and only the red ones count. You could blindly stick your hand in the bag for one at a time, hoping for a red one. However, the more efficient way would be to grab a handful and pick out the red ones while avoiding the rest, which would likely be the majority of the bag. In-vitro fertilization is my efficient handful into motherhood.

The quest feels a little more daunting right about now with just one backup, but I’m trying not to let it shake me. I will not buy a home pregnancy test to try to get an early result. I will not obsess about any twinges or odd feelings. I’m just gon’ ride it out and pray for two more days.

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4 thoughts on “Alas, poor embryos. I knew them …

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