in waiting

It is 6:45 a.m. and I am sitting on a chair next to an empty hospital bed. The room is bright, with three beds, each separated by a heavy curtain. We arrived at the Torrance office of PRC at about 6:20 and my brave husband is already currently having his procedure done -- a procedure that most men don't even want to think about -- in an operating room whose door I can only halfway see from my vantage point. I hear blips of his conversation with Dr. Rajfer, his urologist, during the procedure and things sound fairly . . . um . . . jolly in there. 


It is not ten minutes that a nurse, Kim, asks me to put on my own set of hospital garments -- a gown, a mesh hairnet, hospital issue socks, and mesh protectors on the socks. I get myself situated on my own bed, and in moments, Dr. Rajfer comes out of the operating room with a big smile on his face. I ask how it went and he said that it was successful. He had to make four pokes to get the most populated batch, but he got them, and a lot of them. J comes out of the room a few moments later, shimmying back to his bed while holding the back of his gown shut. It is straight-out-of-a-movie hilarious. 


I put my phone down from blogging {yes, I have resorted to mobile blogging! Thank you, Blogger for iPhone!} as Kim takes my vitals and asks me to sign some consent forms. I am unable to get back to writing as it does not take long until Dr. Hung {yes, his name is Hung}, the anesthesiologist, goes over some final items with me prior to surgery. My IV of fluids gets hooked up and soon, they lead me to the same operating room J was just in and instruct me to lay in bed. I am not on the bed for 30 seconds and I already start to feel heavy. I asked Dr. Hung if he already started to administer the meds and he replies with a perky, "of course!" I make an honest attempt at continuing a conversation with him and Kim but just continued to fade, fade, fade . . . 


After what seems like only a few short moments, I am slowly being awaked by the pfft pfft pfft of the blood pressure machine on my arm. Much like I was before being put out, I make attempts at conversation with Kim and J, who was already dressed and sitting next to my bed. 


TWELVE eggs, they say. TWELVE! That is one more than last year's eleven. Truly, we are a family of overachievers. I hear parts of statements as I come in and out of consciousness . . . the procedure went well . . . wow, that's a lot of eggs . . . some people get only four . . .


As has become almost customary each time I've had a procedure (i.e. last year's hysteroscopies and egg retrieval), I fight the grogginess, feign total coherence so we can skidaddle out of there and I can eat. They had had me fasting since last night and J and I are getting cranky-hungry. 


Finally, at about 10:00 a.m., we left. The normally not-so-long drive home from Torrance to Ladera Ranch seemed to take hours, despite the absence of any traffic {a surprise, for the 405 freeway}. By the time we get home, I am exhausted from not only the lingering effects of the anesthesia, but from trying to stay awake and not allow my head to bob like a drunken prom queen during the drive home.


As soon as we got home, I dragged my heavy behind up the stairs and slept. 
And slept.
And slept.
By the time I woke up, it was 4:35 p.m.


Now we are waiting to hear results of the fertilization. We should be getting a call tomorrow to let us know how it has gone so far. They are planning on having my embryo transfer on Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m.


Sometimes I have to pinch myself because of how quickly time has gone since everything happened. As much as it has been so exciting to move forward, my heart especially aches more for the girls who were supposed to be here with us anyway. Aubrey and Finley are so sorely missed in our home, but I have to be honest in saying that I get scared sometimes that they may be getting forgotten. So my message to them, to the universe, and to anyone who may be reading: they are not forgotten at all. Their Daddy and I ache and long for them everyday, but are thankful for their presence that we feel. It is through them that our faith is strengthened and we are provided an anchor of hope for their sister to be here in a few months.