CRASH.

The good news:

- I don’t have to worry about the pio shots.
- I can drink alcohol.

Ummm, that’s all I can come up with.

The retrieval yesterday actually went just fine. We got to the hospital at 8am as instructed, and D got called in to do his thing around 9:15. My turn didn’t actually come ‘til after 11am. They got 17 eggs. 17 - a nice prime number. It’s how old I was when D & I first kissed – 17 years ago Monday night. Sure, I was terribly crampy and uncomfortable afterwards, but there was no bleeding and it all seemed good.

Then at 10am this morning I got a call from my RE. Not from the nurse with the fertilization report and my transfer day – but from my RE directly. NONE of the 17 fertilized, not a one. They can’t explain it – the eggs looked good, D’s numbers were great so they left them to unite. They didn’t use ICSI on any of them because it didn’t appear to be needed. But apparently it was.

So the last 4 weeks or so have all been for naught. It’s as if I’ve spent these last months training for a triathalon only to end up with a DNF. It’s little consolation that I was ahead of the pack during the swimming and even the bike part seemed to be going my way. But when it was time to switch to the running, I crashed hard. The result was I could no longer compete and had to withdraw from the race.

I know there are more races to enter, but this was the medal I really wanted.