I couldn’t believe it. When the clinic called me last Wednesday afternoon with my final instructions upon “graduating,” they let me know that yesterday would be my very last day of Endometrin, the progesterone supplements I needed to take during the period preparing for my frozen embryo transfer through the 10th week of pregnancy. Endometrin are pills, but they are not the pills you are probably envisioning; they are not taken by mouth, but rather by vagina. You use an applicator and insert them into your vagina three times a day, once in the morning as soon as you wake up, once in the middle of the afternoon, and once before bed. And they are anything BUT clean: I’ve had to wear a panty liner every single day during this period, and when I have not… well, I’ve had quite a mess to clean up. And don’t even get me started on the “trail” that the pill leaves; it literally leaks all over the place, from the bed to the floor to the chairs I sit on. I’ve randomly found traces of vag pill all over the hallway floors!

But to be honest, I would take vaginal pills/Endometrin every single day and then some over taking progesterone in oil (PIO) shots, which are thick, painful, and administered on your butt with a longer-than-long needle. I am so grateful I have remained ignorant to the horror of that experience, which is what I honestly feared the most during the IVF process, but was made aware early on that the clinic would not be prescribing this for my protocol (or most of their other patients, for that matter).

It was almost bittersweet in some way, inserting my last vag pill yesterday evening before bed. It’s like this period of my IVF process is done, and fingers crossed, things will continue to go smoothly moving forward. Life is progressing; life inside of me is progressing. My pregnancy is progressing. I just need to keep my faith in this process going.

Given the fertility journey I have been on, every appointment I’ve had after learning I’ve been pregnant has been beyond nerve wracking. I have to try my best to fight off anxiety while going to all of these appointments, whether they’ve just been for blood draws to check my HCG level, or scans to check on the growth of the embryo and its heartbeat. I’ve also had to start seeing an endocrinologist to ensure my thyroid levels are within healthy range, and each visit there, they also take my weight and blood pressure. I’ve always had normal blood pressure, but at this first OB visit, which is strange to even call it that since prior to getting pregnant, I would usually just refer to my OB-GYN as my “gynecologist,” when the nurse took my blood pressure, I noticed that it was a little elevated. Great, I thought. I’m getting off to an awesome start with this visit.

Then, I undressed from the waist down as instructed and waited for my doctor of the last nine years to come in. And I felt nervous. What if the embryo isn’t growing? Or what if its heart beat can no longer be detected? These worries keep plaguing me each visit, and they’ve only gotten worse since Twin A’s heartbeat stopped.

I knew she was coming when I heard the clicking of her heels. She loves heels.

She opened the door with a huge grin on her face (yes, I could even see it with her mask on): “YVONNE!” She shouted in a sing-songy tone. “You’re PREGNANT!!!! CONGRATULATIONS!”

I smiled. “Yep. I”m excited… and absolutely terrified,” I responded, laughing. “Every visit, I’m scared I’m going to find out something bad.”

She reassured me that at this stage of pregnancy, now that we’re at week 10, the miscarriage risk was extremely low. “Now, you should really just focus on your health and the future,” she insisted.

I hope she’s right, I thought. I mean, based on the statistics, what she is says is true, but I cannot help but have some lingering doubt in the back of my mind. I cannot get too comfortable.

She proceeded to perform my very first transabdominal ultrasound; I couldn’t believe it. “We don’t have to do it vaginally?” I asked to be sure. She said that at this stage, we should be able to see clearly enough over the stomach (thank God; I’m so over having foreign objects stuck in my vagina all the time). So she pressed the wand over my stomach and we started looking at the outline of what is now, as of this week, transitioning from an embryo into a fetus. We saw the outside of the baby’s head, butt, hands, and feet. And she also measured the heart beat: 179 beats per minute, which is on track for this stage. And the little peanut is measuring at exactly 10 weeks. Thank goodness. A major sigh of relief came out.

She had me do some routine prenatal tests, including both blood and urine samples, and gave me a referral for a formal 12-week scan that would provide better imaging for nuchal translucency and growth at the hospital in two weeks. I will see her again in five weeks.

I just need to get through these weeks and not worry about the growth and progression. I’m not used to not having weekly scans, and I just need to trust in the process. I need to trust in the process. I am going to get through this. My baby is going to get through this, too, and be healthy and happy. Please, please.

I was surprised to get a message from Maria, Raj’s wife, yesterday morning, asking if we’d be free to catch up over a video chat this week. Obviously, we’d been wanting to chat with her since we found out about Raj’s passing, but we figured she was overwhelmed with being a new mom and all the new responsibilities around that, not to mention grieving her husband, and so we just let her know we’d be free to chat whenever she was ready.

We ended up chatting with her this evening, and I just couldn’t help but get emotional. I don’t think it takes any difficult guessing to figure out that life has been really hard for her since he got sick and died so suddenly. And it’s only been made worse by the fact that no one, not the doctors or anyone at the hospital, have any idea what brought on these seizures out of nowhere… they know nothing until this day. One by one, his organs just started shutting down, and the end finally came. And he was hospitalized just days after bringing their baby home.

Maria expressed a lot of confusion and anger at the world that something like this could happen to Raj, and it was easy to understand. “Why Raj? Why him?” she said through tears. “He’s such a good person… Why did he have to get taken away, and like this?”

The world isn’t a fair place. It’s no wonder I get angry at life and the world so often; it’s when things like this happen. Maria has been so strong, partly because she has no choice given she’s responsible for an entirely new human being now. I just can’t believe how strong and fierce she’s been; it was so admirable to see.

It just felt so strange, though, to be on that Zoom chat with just her. It’s almost like I still don’t believe Raj is gone, like all this is some awful joke being played on us, and that out nowhere any second, he will pop into the Zoom frame and say hi to us. I can’t believe she’s actually a “widow” now. That is just too strange to me to think about. My heart just hurts.

This afternoon in the suburb of Folsom, family and friends gathered at a beautiful winery to celebrate the life of our dear friend Raj. For those of us who are not local, a live stream of the event was provided on YouTube, so Chris and I tuned in to participate from home. As we can imagine would have been what Raj wanted, this was no somber affair; the food and wine overfloweth, and the family requested guests to not wear funeral attire and instead to wear business casual.

One after another, we heard friends and family members of Raj talk about memories they had with him. All of them were relatable, and none were surprising given the big heart that Raj had. Some were actually pretty funny (I had no idea he converted Maria’s parents into wine lovers. These are people who barely even knew what wine was before!). Even his manager and the head of his team came to share thoughts and memories of their colleague and friend, a side that we never got to see of Raj since we never worked professionally with him.

The tear jerker moment for me was seeing his dad speak. Given the timing, it was unlikely he got to see Raj this year before his son’s untimely death given he was stuck in Nepal, and it just broke my heart to see how strong he was being. Raj was so close to his parents; he frequently called his dad his best friend. And regardless of being in a totally different time zone, he called his dad every single day, even if it was just to talk for five minutes. He was an open book to his dad. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and anguish his parents must have felt upon learning their eldest son had suddenly passed. It must have felt like death for themselves.

This morning, Chris and I went to the clinic for what was supposed to be my last visit before “graduating.” When you are getting fertility treatments at a clinic, they consider “graduation day” to be the day when you have finished all your treatments and have been given the green light that your pregnancy is healthy and progressing, and so you are allowed to transition back to your OB-GYN. In the elevator going up, Chris asked, “Is this really going to be your last visit?”

I gave him a tired look. “I HOPE SO!!!!” Because if this isn’t my last visit, it either means a) something is wrong with the growth of Emmie that would require closer monitoring, or b) she isn’t going to make it, and I’ll need to start from square 1 all over again. Please don’t be the case…

As I sat on the exam table waiting for the doctor to come in for my last scan, I suddenly felt nervous. Is everything going to be okay? Is my little remaining Twin B going to be growing appropriately with a good heart rate? Am I REALLY going to graduate today and have this be my last visit here?

The doctor and sonographer finally came in, and the doctor got started with the scan right away. As though reading my mind, as soon as he stuck the probe in me, he immediately said, “Wanted to confirm right away that yes, we do see a heart beat! And it’s looking on track!”

Thank God.

Hey, little Twin B, you can do it! You can do it! And she certainly is doing quite a bit with her heart beating at 186 beats per minute, which is within healthy, normal range of what she should be at given we’re now at the 9-week mark. He also confirmed that Twin B’s growth rate is on target for where it should be. “This is exactly what I was hoping to see today!” the doctor exclaimed, smiling, with relief.

He answered some of our questions and talked through transitioning back to my OB. I thanked him for everything before he wished us well and left the room. I also gave a parting gift and thank you card to my sonographer, who has been my rock at this clinic for as long as I’ve been going. It was definitely a bittersweet day. I’ve been treated very well at this clinic; they’ve taken very good care of me, especially when I read all the horror stories in other fertility support groups online, or hear my friend’s stories about her clinic. Transitioning over to my OB-GYN will be like I never got fertility treatments at all; it will seem and feel like a “normal” pregnancy.” But that also means less checking, less reassurance that things are progressing well. I just have to trust in the process. No more weekly scans. Now, it’ll be every four weeks until week 32 from what I’ve read, then weekly until delivery.

Unfortunately, Twin A is still there with no heart beat. You can even see her on the sonogram the doctor printed out for me. It’s a sad reminder of a little potential life that unfortunately did not work out, but it only makes me hope even harder for Twin B to survive and thrive.

I am just hoping, praying, hoping endlessly that nothing goes wrong and that my little Emmie the embryo continues to progress and become a little human I can hold in my arms. If I ever come back to this clinic, I want it to be as a guest, not as a patient.