I spent most of today thinking about crusty bread, matzo ball soup, and egg salad. I ended up picking up two types of focaccia plus a round whole wheat seeded loaf at Eataly since I passed it going between my two doctor appointments today. But I could not locate a matzo ball soup place easily. And with egg salad, well, most places’ egg salads are pretty sad, so I’m planning on making some this weekend. I had my EMG test today downtown, which is the test that sees what nerve issues I have and how severe my cubital tunnel is. It was not fun at all; not only was the doctor late by nearly half an hour, but he was a socially awkward, very strange man. It was like something out of a movie where I was lying down on an examination table with all these things plugged into my arms, hands, and fingers, getting shocked and zapped. The last part was the real kicker: he actually stuck needles into my hand and thumbs to see how sensitive I was. I now have a bruise on my left hand from where the needle was stuck. The verdict was in: the good news is that I do not have any nerve damage. The bad news is I definitely have mild cubital tunnel, more mild on the left side than on the right. I have extremely mild carpal tunnel on my left side, with less mild carpal tunnel on the right. And what do I need to do? Everything I have been doing (I give much credit to my vertical mouse for saving me), plus he prescribed some ointment he didn’t bother describing in depth and sent it directly to my pharmacy. This neurologist was a true peach if you couldn’t already tell.

I came home and shared the focaccia with Chris, but even after finishing it, it didn’t seem to be enough. I still kept thinking about the chickeny goodness of matzo ball soup and the creamy richness of egg salad. I’m definitely having both of them this weekend. I deserve to eat what I want.

My friend was so excited at the idea of my first obstetrical ultrasound that she insisted she accompany me to my third appointment since the transfer. I didn’t mind; I was happy to have the emotional support, and well, as per usual, in the back of my mind, I keep wondering if something would go awry. This is my “cautious optimism” at play now. As per usual, I had my blood drawn and then waited to be called in for the ultrasound. When my name was called, I asked the clinical assistant if my friend could come in, too, and so to accommodate us, she switched the exam room to one that was a little more comfortable for three people. Upon entering the exam room, I was unfortunately told that I was still having a trans-vaginal ultrasound, meaning, I’d still have to have a freaking wand stuck up my vagina yet again. Well, if this is the normal procedure, then I guess I will just go ahead with it, I said to the clinical assistant. She gave me a sympathetic glance and left the room for me to undress waist down.

My favorite sonographer came in shortly after, and we had some small talk before she started the ultrasound. She immediately identified the gestational sac and even printed some photos for us. Then when she zoomed in, not only did we see what was the beginning of the yolk sac, but…. she paused. “Yvonne, can you see that second circle?” the sonographer said. “Did you say you transferred one embryo? Because this could either be a second gestational sac or excess fluid, which is totally normal.”

I nearly burned a hole into the ultrasound screen staring into it; THERE COULD BE TWO GESTATIONAL SACS?? MY ONE PRECIOUS EMBRYO COULD HAVE SPLIT???????

My friend and I started squealing and saying over and over, “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!!!!!” The sonographer told us she’d share these photos with the doctor to get his thoughts, but told us that he would likely agree with her in that it’s still a bit premature to know whether it’s really two sacs or not. We would find out for sure either next week or the week after, so week 6 or 7. And we’d definitely know by week 8. During week 8, a heart beat can usually be detected if all is going well, and if there are two heart beats, well….. there you go: IDENTICAL TWINS.

My mom is a twin. Unfortunately, her twin died just days after being born (this was rural Vietnam in the 1950s). I will never know if she’s an identical or fraternal twin, though. My mom has always told me that there could be a chance I’d have twins because twins run in our family on her side. If we were having twins, I know she’d absolutely be ecstatic and just go nuts.

For the HCG level stats we’re tracking to ensure the pregnancy is going well:

9 Days Post Transfer: 45.91

11 Days Post Transfer: 127

16 Days Post Transfer: 1,695

Thank whatever and all higher powers that exist. I’m counting my blessings so far. I’m still nervous and scared, but I have more hope and excitement now. My baby (babies) is (are) coming to me. My baby is coming to me.

Given we are still living in a global pandemic, taking a progesterone pill three times a day via an applicator in my vagina really has been quite simple seven days a week. While I do need alarms set for morning, mid-afternoon, and bedtime to remind myself, when you are at home most of the time when these need to be “consumed,” it’s quite simple. I prefer to lay on my back and do them on the bed, but obviously, on Saturdays when we are out and about, that is not really possible. So like any other woman on her period, I just need to find a public restroom to insert them, similar to how you’d insert a tampon. Except me being my mom’s daughter, I have literally, not even once, ever used a tampon in my life (she has huge fears of dying from Toxic Shock Syndrome, and well, I figured a pad is just easier, especially since they are made so lightweight and thin nowadays).

It’s not always easy finding a public restroom though, especially when you are in neighborhoods like Crown Heights, which mostly have divey hole-in-the-wall takeout spots that don’t have public restrooms. I managed to ask a restaurant we didn’t even get food from if I could use theirs, and they agreed, but it was pretty clear they were not thrilled I was using their restroom without buying anything. I mean, when a pregnant woman has needs, she has needs, right?

I told my therapist the good news this morning during our regular scheduled session. She asked me how I was feeling, and I immediately burst into tears.

“I’m so excited, but I’m completely terrified at the same time,” I said to her. “I don’t want to get too excited because I’m so scared this is all going to be taken away from me tomorrow.”

She insisted to me that it was okay to be happy or to celebrate the small wins along the way. None of my reactions or feelings are abnormal, and given the long and painful road of infertility, we need to celebrate these little wins because…. what the hell else is there to celebrate or be happy about? It’s a normal dichotomy of feelings, she said. The important thing is that I learn what works best for me in terms of balancing those two opposing emotions so that it does not overrun my life.

I started doing pregnancy-focused yoga and meditation a few days ago. Some of the mantras that seem to be working for me are around trusting the universe a little more, and trusting my body to care and nourish my developing embryo.

“I am happy. I am healthy. My baby is coming to me.”

“I trust my body to care for my baby.”

Just one day at a time. Just one day at a time. Just one day at a time. I can do this. I can definitely do this.

Last night, I went on a rant to Chris and my friend.

“My body is supposed to be a baby making machine!” I yelled. “The female body was designed to be a baby making machine! Why do you think you get a period every month? Every single month, the female body releases an egg from one of its ovaries, and the egg is just flying out there, asking, ‘heyyyyy, sperm, where you at? Are you even there? Come save me! Be with me! Fertilize me!'”

The released egg is like a damsel in distress running or floating every single month out of one of your ovaries, wondering where the heck its prince charming is to come fertilize and save it. And then, when she is disappointed to find out that no prince charming/sperm is waiting for her, she then dissolves into nothing. (And if we had to get really scientific and specific about this, sometimes there ARE sperm / prince charmings waiting for it, but unfortunately they are too ugly (poor morphology) or too slow (poor motility) to even get considered by the egg or to penetrate the egg for fertilization). Your uterine lining is disappointed at this, with no embryo to attach to it, and thus it sheds each month, resulting in your monthly period, or a “visit from aunt flow.” That can be a good thing or a bad thing depending on what stage of life you are currently on.

I woke up this morning with a noticeable stiffness in my left wrist. I had to shake it out and stretch it a few times before it went away. While I do have cubital tunnel syndrome related problems, that affects the elbows and my fingers. I’ve never had any wrist problems. But I took that as a sign that perhaps, yes, I actually am pregnant (carpal-tunnel can be a temporary symptom of pregnancy. Isn’t that insane??). And I was going to find out shortly when I went in for my beta-HCG test. That’s why today is called Beta Day for women hoping to get pregnant.

My friend accompanied me to my 8:30am appointment to get my blood drawn. The earlier you go, the less you have to wait, so I was in and out of there in less than five minutes literally, which wasn’t enough time for my friend to get through her first news article of the day. We then went to have lunch at a popular spot along Central Park South and discussed life and a potential pregnancy over eggs, bacon, and popovers.

Just before noon, the nurse from the clinic called. I immediately jumped up to take the call into my bedroom. With my friend holding her ear close to the closed bedroom door, the nurse said, “So, I am calling with good news. You’re pregnant!”

I was in shock. I’ve been waiting for this moment for nearly two years now. My eyes immediately welled up and I blurted out, “OHMIGOD, ARE YOU FOR REAL?” She congratulated me and explained some of the levels that we’re looking for and will need to monitor, explained next steps and other things I need to watch out for, and said she’d send over instructions to me through the portal.

My friend embraced me and we cried together, still in shock at the good news, both terrified and excited at the same time. Chris came in and I told him. And him being him, he was even keeled and “smiled on the inside,” trying to temper my excitement since we had no idea if all of this would be taken away from us tomorrow.

I’m not throwing an implantation or embryo party. I’m not calling everyone I know and their mother to let them know I am pregnant. But this has been a long, miserable journey with very few highs. And with this one high after a long time of frustrations and disappointing news and periods, I finally feel like there actually may be hope for us finally growing our family now. I just need to take it one day at a time.

Well, today was the big day. I had my frozen embryo transfer around midday. I kept checking my phone this morning to make sure the clinic didn’t call me… because if they did, it would have been bad news. Two percent of embryos do not survive the thaw. Luckily, mine was okay.

When I checked in upon arrival at the clinic, the front desk assistant (my favorite) was there. She asked me what music I wanted played during the procedure. I thought I misheard her. “Did you just ask me what music I want played?” I asked her, confused. She smiled and confirmed I heard right. I told her I wanted Lady Gaga playing, so she went to set that up for me. That’s a nice touch.

While waiting to be called in, my favorite sonographer came out to greet and hug me. “Yvonne! GOOD LUCK TODAY! I’m rooting for you!” she said, embracing me. “I’m praying for you. You will do great.” I got a little teary eyed when she said this. I didn’t realize how much pent up emotion I had in myself until she said this to me. There are some really good humans who work at this clinic. She is one of them.

They make you come in with a semi-full bladder for this procedure, which happens in the operating room. The semi-full bladder helps them better visualize where to best place the embryo along the uterine lining. And of course, the doctor was running late with another patient. I was not super thrilled, lying on the table with my feet up in stir-ups. They even made me change into an operating room gown, booties, and a hair net given it’s a sterile environment. The room has a tiny window with a curtain that opens up into the embryology lab, where they hand over the embryo in a vial to the doctor to insert.

When the doctor finally arrived after the nurse buzzed him multiple times, I was pretty much ready to pee all over him (remember how I said above that there are some really good humans who work at this clinic? This doctor may or may not be on that list). Luckily for him and me, I have some level of self respect and did not pee on him, as I was able to hold it all in despite his being 25 minutes late. However, if I had peed on him, he definitely would have deserved it. During the procedure, they show you the embryo on the screen before they insert it. They even give you a picture of the embryo as a little souvenir of the event.

Once the transfer was complete, I rested for about five minutes on the table before getting dressed, checking out, and leaving. I also said a little prayer to myself, hoping this would be the very last time I’d leave the operating room here.

I went home, finished the work day, made and ate dinner, and rested and read in the evening. They told me to do nothing strenuous, no exercise other than walking, and no heavy lifting for today. I felt some little twinges and what felt like tightness or pressure down there throughout the day. I hope that’s a good sign of implantation. I can only hope now for the best.

In nine days, I return to the clinic for my b-HCG, progesterone, and TSH tests. The b-HCG is the test that detects the pregnancy hormone in your blood. Pleeeeease be positive.

Before starting fertility treatment, the idea of injecting myself with a needle was completely horrifying. I can barely look at the nurse when I have to get blood drawn at annual physicals or during gynecologist appointments. I’ve always turned away when they insert the needle into my vein and only look down when the needle has been taken out. Once I realized I was actually going to go through this journey, I realized I had to suck it up and deal with it. You have it so good, I thought to myself. I am a relatively young, healthy woman with no known illnesses, diseases, or conditions that would make me a bad candidate for this. I have generous health insurance coverage that actually covers the vast majority of these costs (and sadly, am also painfully cognizant of how few people have this luxury. I’ve read in many fertility support groups that some women, even those in the medical professions, have such poor coverage that they have taken up a part-time job at Starbucks once or twice a week *just* to get fertility coverage). I have a good AMH level (that’s the test that determines whether you have diminished ovarian reserve or not. In plain speak, that means I have a good quantity of eggs remaining in my ovaries). I also have normal hormone levels across the board. I should feel lucky, I told myself. So if the worst thing I have to do is self-administer injections, I got this! So many other women do this with zero medical background, so if they can do it, so can I, right?

I watched the videos for each medication at least 5 times. I read through the illustrated instructions a few times, also going through all the potential side effects I could experience so that I was well aware of what I could feel or experience. I mentally prepared myself for this. And oddly enough, it really wasn’t so bad. The first time, the second time, the 10th time… it all became relatively normal after the first prick. Occasionally I’d bruise a little. But this was all nowhere as awful as I imagined in my head. And lucky for me (again, I am counting my blessings here), the worst side effect I’ve felt was a little bruising as well as some tiny bloating post injection.

I’d read of some pretty awful side effects, from intense nausea, massive bloating, constant headaches, vomiting, and noticeable mood swings. I was really preparing myself for the worst. A few people who posted in groups I am in said they were crying nearly every single day during their shots. Some people truly had the worst experiences of their life using these medications. I was also concerned about medication mixing, but these pharmaceutical companies have dummy proofed these pretty well to the point that pretty much anyone could self-administer these shots after reading through the instructions. They have so many checks in place to make sure you DO NOT overdose and that you do NOT mess up.

When I called with a question for a nurse on one of the injection pens and she gave me the answer, I exclaimed immediately, “Wow! These things are incredible! They really are mistake-proofed, aren’t they?!” She laughed in response. “Well, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone say that about these meds, but I’m happy you feel that way!”

This isn’t so awful, I kept telling myself. This isn’t so awful. I can do this. I’m getting through this, and I’m nearly done. And this will all be worth it in the end. I just need to keep meditating, keep calm, and keep positive thoughts. I’m going to get through this, and I’m going to have the successful outcome I want. I have the grit to get through this. I am mentally and physically tough enough for this.

Pleaaaaase. Please, be true.