The anesthesia had finally worn off and now it was time for science to do its thing.  I began my new online obsession with my clinic’s patient portal where I would get daily updates on how my embryos were developing.  It was like my first exposure to a child’s progress report!

24 hours after my retrieval I learned that out of the 7 eggs retrieved, 6 were mature and 5 fertilized. This math was all new to me so I felt positive and prayed for my “maybe babies.”

Every morning when Marc and I would drive to the train we would cut through the parking lot of the ambulatory care center where my embryos were growing.  I would say hello to them and tell them to keep growing.  Marc humored me at first but quickly shared that this made him uncomfortable.  They weren’t our “babies” just yet and he didn’t want me to get attached.

Day 3 report came that out of the 5 fertilized only 4 made it.  Still good I thought.  The praying continued.

I would text my parents and friends and mother-in-law the exact number of baby emojis to equal the remaining embryos and we all were excited.

Day 5 came and only 3 had made it to the blastocyst phase.  This was the time that they would be sent for PGS testing (preimplantation genetic screening) to look for chromosomal abnormalities.  The test looked for Downs Syndrome, Turners Syndrome and a series of other medical abnormalities.

Based on my age, we assumed we would get 1-2 “normal” embryos out of the bunch and in our eyes that was good enough.

On a rainy Friday in May, two days before Mother’s Day, my doctor called me with the devastating news… all 3 embryos tested abnormal with various issues and there was nothing for me to transfer.  NOTHING.